About That Empire Thing
by Gargoyle13
Summary: How do you break it to a great Roman Commander that the Roman Empire no longer exists? Gently, of course...unless you're me. WARNING: Author insert fic.
1. Roman Empire Not So Much

**Disclaimer:** I own none of them. Not one. Sadly the only thing I own is the premise for the story.

**A/N: **I don't even know what to call this – AU or what. It's the twisted product of some twisted conversations. I honestly don't hate Arthur, nor Lancelot…they just really know how to annoy me many days. If the idea of the author having a conversation with the characters bothers you, close this fic now. Go no further. You've been warned in my best stern voice.

* * *

_Cough._

I roll my eyes and pretend not to notice, hoping the interloper will get the hint and leave.

_Cough. Cough. _

I look at the reflection in my computer monitor and sigh. It's Arthur Castus. My head drops a bit…I know if he wants to talk, there's no getting rid of the man. Hints don't work and neither does the direct approach. I know – I've tried countless times. For a man who is considered fairly intelligent, he really can be dumb.

_Cough. Cough. Cough._

"OK, OK, OK already!" I turn and snap at him. "I heard you the first freaking time." I fix my best 'this-had-better-be-good' look on him, cross my arms and sit back in my chair. While doing this, I notice Uther standing a short distance behind, looking apologetic; I shake my head and heave a deep sigh. This is not boding well for my morning.

"Well if you heard me…" Arthur's voice trails off as I pause in the middle of pulling my hair back into a ponytail. I can only guess the disbelief and annoyance that I am feeling are reflected in my face clearly. I exchange looks with Uther, who shakes his head and waves half-heartedly as he departs.

It's my turn to (fake) cough and clear my throat. Silently I vow revenge on Uther for whatever part he played in Artorius showing up at my desk with whatever problem was plaguing his world today. I reach over and finger my KA notebook, vowing to work harder on a fic wherein I get to deliver Uther his comeuppance.

Taking a deep breath, I decide that the best course of action is to confront this…whatever. "Yes, Arthur? With what can I assist you today?" I try a pleasant tone but it comes out sounding a bit sarcastic and I wonder if he knows I am eyeing up the sword hanging on the wall behind him. That would definitely assist me, at least.

"Well…umm…"

"You know the rule, Arthur. Spit it out or shut it up…"

Arthur sighs and points at the encyclopedic dictionary on the shelf. He motions for it and I hand it to him, admittedly intrigued. He flips it open to the map section and studies something intently.

"You look in this book frequently, saying it is the know-all of the book world, yet no where on these maps does it reflect the boundaries of the Roman Empire." He shuts the book emphatically and reaches over my shoulder to replace it on the shelf. "I have concluded then that obviously this book is mistaken and am worried that you refer to it constantly and rely on its information."

My first reaction is disbelief, followed quickly by quiet laughter that shakes my entire body and the chair I am seated in.

"Seriously? Really?" I am in complete shock as he looks at me, obviously horrified by my amusement with this query.

I regain some composure and decide the direct explanation is the best. Probably not so much for him, but it will be for me.

"No, Arthur…the maps are correct. The Roman Empire no longer exists. It hasn't existed for…" I pause to do some calculating, but math was never my strong subject. "Let's just say it's been a long, long, long time and leave it at that."

"But…" Arthur's expression is a mixture of dismay and confusion. "It can't be." He shakes his head. "The Empire was going to last forever."

I snicker. "Yeah…tell that to the Egyptians…and the Persians…and, oh, don't forget Alexander… The Roman Empire is gone, Arthur. Over. Done." I really am enjoying this a bit too much.

"But…"

The man is definitely having acceptance issues. I take a deep breath. It's going to be a long morning, I realize again.

"The Pope. The Church. It was all…they commanded the world…" Arthur shakes his head sadly. "What happened?" This comes out more like a wail as he slowly sinks to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

I almost feel sorry for him as I walk over and pat him on the head.

"Well, Artorius, it goes something like this, short version: Rome gets too big for its britches – the whole expansion into Britain was a bad idea. The beginning of the end, more or less, and leaving the island didn't do too much to help. Then everyone gets too greedy and too…complacent, shall we say… Barbarians invade and, yeah, that's pretty much the end of the Roman Empire as you remember it."

I look down and realize he is crying. Tears are trailing down his cheeks as he shakes his head in horror.

"Hey there…" I feel somewhat guilty, having just destroyed the man's faith and confidence in all he has ever known. "You guys do leave some lasting marks on the world, so not all is lost."

"The Pope though… The Church…" He looks up hopefully.

I snort and nod. "Oh, don't go worrying over the Pope. He manages just fine, trust me. Got his own little city-state thing to rule, a whopping nice palace, couple vacation homes…some merchandising opportunities… Trust me, he's the last fellow you need to be worried over. And your religion becomes one of the biggest on the planet." I decide now isn't the time to address the missteps and foibles of either. The man did just learn that the entire Empire he fought for and believe in collapsed into a heap; I'm mean but I just can't bring myself to stoop to that level. At least not right now…but tomorrow is another day. I struggle to keep the grin from my face.

"But the rest?"

"Yeah…the rest goes bye-bye for the most part. Kind of. I mean, Italy does become a hugely popular tourist and vacation spot. People come from all over to see the architecture and statues that the Romans leave behind. You just…well…don't have an Empire anymore." I shrug, not quite sure what else to say to the poor man so I settle for patting him on the head one last time and returning to my chair.

Alerted by the wailing of his commander and best friend, Lancelot saunters in, bag of cheese popcorn in one hand and licking the orange off the fingers of his other. Oh lovely, Tweedledummer has come to join Tweedledum, making my morning complete.

"What's wrong, Artorius?"

I listen as Arthur gives Lancelot an abbreviated version of my abbreviated accounting of the fall of the Roman Empire, managing to keep my snickering silent.

"It's alright," he reaches out and places his still orange coated fingers on Arthur's shoulder and squeezes. "You can come home with us. You know, to Sarmatia."

They both turn and look at me hopefully. I groan and put my forehead down on the desk, wondering just how I am going to explain that Sarmatia doesn't exist anymore either…


	2. And Sarmatia

**A/N:** Again, I warn you, this is author-insert just like the previous chapter. If that bugs you, turn back now. Yes, I took the coward's way with a quick, dirty, imprecise explanation of why Sarmatia doesn't exist. If you would prefer to deliver an extended variation, I would be more than happy to send the boys your way. OH – and this is a big OH, as in pay attention because some content might be slightly offensive…not as in OH, Ohio for all you stateside folks. I think I've rated the story high enough, but you've been warned.

* * *

I am busy shaking my head and trying not to make eye contact with the two sets of hopeful, eager eyes fixed on me. Maybe I can wish them away…

"Hey – heard a bunch of commotion – what's going on in here?" Gawain has appeared in the doorway and looks questioningly from me to his still kneeling commanding officer and his orange-fingered brother.

I listen to Lancelot and Arthur talk over each other in an attempt to piece together a cohesive explanation. Gawain's expression alternates between confusion and amusement as the two continue, sounding for the entire world like some old, married couple. Until he picks up on the last sentence.

"Sarmatia?" Gawain looks excited, which is never a good thing. "You're going to tell us how to get to Sarmatia?"

Before I can say anything, Gawain has bounded off like some floppy-eared puppy, yelling to anyone within earshot that directions to Sarmatia were about to become available. Of course, I know my house and this means that I am about to be over-run with Knights wanting an explanation. At any given time, there is a horde of Knights milling around doing nothing except, well, whatever it is dead Knights do while waiting to tell their stories. Mostly, I've observed, it entails eating chocolate pudding cups, drinking beer and being afraid of aerosol whipped cream. Of course, this is all in-between experiencing the "finer things" in this lifetime – cartoons and Victoria's Secret catalogues.

I again eye up the sword hanging on the wall. If I were to grab it now, I could likely run both Arthur and Lancelot through before anyone else appears…although that does leave the problem of body disposal, which I probably would not be able to accomplish before said horde appears in doorway.

Sadly, I am correct and soon they are crowding into my office/library. While they are trying to squeeze in, I am trying to see who is armed and how well they are armed. The only one I cannot ascertain is Tristran because, well, it's Tristran and I pretty certain the man can crap out a dagger if the situation calls for it. I look around for my support system and notice they have taken seats in the back-row for this. They wave in amusement. I refrain from utilizing the one-finger salute and instead motion to Kay to hand me a book from the shelf by his shoulder. He obliges by tossing the book to me.

Thermopylae: The Battle that Changed the World. Seems innocuous enough, but I know better. This is the only map I can find that shows Sarmatia in any way, shape or form. Even the "know-it-all" book no longer recognizes Sarmatia; filled with dread, I exhale and begin flipping the pages until I find the map. Damn this book. It shows Sarmatia as being part of the freaking Persian Empire. I hear the laughter from the back and quietly mutter about retribution for Agravaine, Bedwyr, Gareth, Gaheris and Mouse.

"Oh-kay. So. This is how it goes, short, short, short version." I take a deep breath but before I can begin, Artorius has already raised his hand. "Yes, dearest Arthur Castus, esteemed leader and…" I decide on discretion and simply motion for him to speak.

Arthur slowly gets to his feet and reaches over my shoulder. I cringe because I know what book he is reaching for and it will be my doom. I just know it.

"Shouldn't you be using this book? You know, the one that knows everything about everything, including that the beloved Roman Empire does not exist any longer…?"

"No, Arthur, I am using the correct book. Though it will be most helpful to have that book ready as well, so thank you so very much for being so very thoughtful and helpful." I know my sarcasm is lost on his feeble mind, but it makes me feel better so I don't truly care.

Arthur nods and smiles (he is really proud of himself) and returns to his place by Lancelot, only to be pushed down on his arse by surrounding Knights anxious to know what happened to Sarmatia.

"Oh-kay. To begin again, unless there are any more questions…" I look around sharply, ignoring Mouse's waving and the other assorted gestures from the back row. I swear by all the gods, I am going to get them…and Uther…where is that instigator anyway? It's his fault this all started. Shaking my head, I return to the explanation at hand.

"Sarmatia. Right. Well. It's quite a long and…complicated…yes, complicated is a good word…complicated explanation, so this is just gonna be the short version." I again scan the room, studiously ignoring making any eye contact with anyone in the back. "You've got a whole bunch of different peoples – Huns, Mongols, Franks, your pals the Saxons…yeah, they all want a piece of Sarmatia. Of course, once Rome loses control, everything is up for grabs and, basically, it all goes…well…it all goes pretty bad pretty quick. Sarmatia isn't exactly located in an isolated spot, so…" as I begin this part of the explanation, I am filled with a sudden desire to locate a shield which is, of course, the only piece of weaponry I do not currently have in my stockpile.

"Yes, yes…we all know that Sarmatia is located rather in the crossroads of everything and so everyone wants it. Get on with it. How do we get home?" Lancelot spits this out rapidly and, for emphasis, makes some wild gestures with his arms.

I take a deep breath and re-secure my ponytail, trying to spot an escape route just in case. "Well, you see, that's just it. Sarmatia is such desirable real estate that, well, it gets taken over and conquered and, basically, it doesn't exist anymore." I close my eyes and hold my breath, waiting for a reaction. When only quiet greets my ears, I slowly open one eye.

The Knights are looking at each other, confused and bewildered. Dagonet shoulders forward and grabs the encyclopedic dictionary – I don't even bother trying to fight him for it – tearing through it until he reaches the maps. Everyone crowds around him, trying to get a peek. He looks from the pages to me, back to the pages and back to me. Suddenly, shouting breaks out among the Knights. From what I can make out, there are shouts about my being right, Sarmatia not being on a map and, well, some very colourful language. Oh, lovely. This day is going from bad to worse to hellish.

"Wait! Just shut up, would you?" Galahad is standing on the window seat. He looks toward me. "So you said the Roman Empire doesn't exist anymore either, right?" I nod my head, not quite sure what he is getting at. "But they left some…stuff…that people go and look at so people know how great they were, right?" I nod even as my stomach sinks. "So…" He motions at me to continue.

I look at the assembled mass blankly. Gods how I wish Leonidas and his party pals would show up at times like this. 300 shields would probably suffice to get me out of this in one piece.

I clear my throat. "Unfortunately, the Sarmatian culture does not fare quite so well. It's absorbed into the…" I pause to attempt to locate a better word than 'conquering' but am unable. With a deep breath, I continue. "Look, suffice to say Sarmatia gets conquered every which way from Tuesday and nothing really survives and so there is no Sarmatia to go home to. End of lesson. End of directions. Good day, I tell you."

Swiftly moving to the doorway, I manage to slip out of the room before anyone can raise any further questions or disputes. Only silence chases me as I race up the stairs. If I can make it to my bathroom and lock the door, I'll at least be able to avoid them for a little while. The bathroom is off-limits for any conversations – a rule I enforce strictly. I hear the shouts as they push and shove each other trying to get out of the small room and hunt me down.

I lean breathlessly against the shut and locked door. Freaking Uther, shoving his stupid son off on me for an explanation of the Roman Empire's demise; he knew somehow it would turn and bite me with having to explain the whole Sarmatian thing... The nerve of him, ruining my day like this... I swear I hear laughter from just outside the door – soft, deep laughter with a slightly British sound…

"I'll get you, Uther Pendragon! I'll make you pay if it's the last thing I do…well, last thing after I get out of being a prisoner in my own bathroom! You'll pay – I swear by all the gods above, below and in-between – you'll pay old man! Oh, you'll pay…" I glare at the door and shake my fist.

* * *

**A/N (2):** OK…so now do I attempt to explain the whole rise and fall of the British Empire and, more importantly, the whole "once and future king" deal, as has been suggested… Any thoughts? Any ideas? Any one willing to distract the mob so I can get out of my bathroom?


	3. And the British Empire

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anyone who appears in this chapter…except me, of course.

**A/N:** Much gratitude to those who distracted the Knights and left food and weaponry. Also a pre-emptive apology to my British friends for, well, what I am guessing is going to be a muddled, probably inaccurate, possibly insulting informational session on the British Empire.

* * *

Silence. Silence is golden, they say. "They" do not live in my house. Silence here means a trap has been set – a token retreat has been called and you better be on your toes.

I have no choice. I cannot live in the bathroom anymore. The chocolate bar, though delicious, was gone hours ago and the strawberry cough drops just aren't filling. Note to self: remodel bathroom and install a small refrigerator.

Cautiously I open the door. I figure this is the most dangerous point; too easy for someone to be waiting to take my head off. Luck is with me and the bedroom is empty, as is the hallway leading to the stairs. Oh look, some good soul left me a shield…I pick that up as I make my way past, trying to see around every corner. Making my way down the stairs, I keep getting an eerie feeling that I'm being watched. Stalked would be more accurate. Damn…I should've asked for two shields, though I don't quite know how I would have made that work…

I take one last look up the stairs, turn the corner to my office and run right into her. Guinevere. In full bondage, I mean battle, attire. Once I get over that shock, I realize that Merlin is standing in the entry to my office and, joining the Knights crowding my office are various and assorted Woads. Great. Just great. What did Uther go and do now? And why does that man seem to hate me so? What did I ever do to him? Well, besides tell him he has an imbecile for a son and ask if Arthur was dropped repeatedly on his head as a child…

"What can I do for you this lovely day, Guinevere?" Dealing with her can be almost as bad as dealing with Arthur. If she did anything besides pout, I might be inclined to cut her some slack. Alas, today will not be that day as she plasters on her best pout-y look and motions toward my office.

"You need to come in here and explain something."

Oh great. Another round of explanations – I am beginning to feel like I should have pursued a degree in education and wonder vaguely if today would count toward any education credits whatsoever.

Sighing, I proceed to my office, Merlin signaling the Woads to let me pass. Seriously, do these guys do anything but scowl? I am so tempted to try wiping the blue off one of them, but I resist; probably not the most opportune moment for that experiment. I take a seat in my desk chair, spinning around to face the crowd. Again, I take note that my so-called support system has taken seats in the back row and look highly amused. Smiling tightly, I cast them a malevolent look hoping it conveys just how much trouble they are in once this is over.

"So…what can I explain this time? The theory of relativity? Evolution? How the Earth is not the center of the Universe? The importance of personal hygiene?"

I smile brightly but no one takes the bait. Instead Merlin shakes his head and I watch bits of…something…land on the carpet. As if the Knights aren't bad enough, now that Merlin and his gang have been here, I will definitely be calling someone to steam clean the carpeting. I mean, at least Arthur didn't bring the entire Roman Army traipsing through my house…

"The British Empire. Explain it. Now." I am shocked. I have never heard Merlin speak anything but whatever language it is the Woads speak. Now he's come out and demanded an explanation…of the British Empire, no less.

I heave a sigh and shake my head. Why me? Why? Really. I think back on my childhood, reviewing every stage and wondering what evil, evil deed I visited on someone that could have been so horrendous to warrant this payback. I come up blank, much like I do when I ponder where exactly to begin explaining the British Empire.

Arthur, attempting to be helpful, reaches over my shoulder but before he can grab the encyclopedic dictionary, I grab his arm. Hard. "Don't do that," I mutter in a low, dangerous tone. "Really don't do that."

I am no longer amused with Uther Pendragon, who I now notice is standing behind Merlin looking very pleased. I smile evilly in his direction, an idea coalescing in this little brain of mine.

"Well, well…the British Empire. Quite an enthusiastic undertaking by, well, the British. And who are the British, you ask? Why, all of you, of course. Well, actually, that isn't quite correct…you are the basis of the British stock, but, well, some…" I realize I am treading dangerous territory as the Woads shift and I notice they are armed. Well armed, I might add. I am going to have a serious discussion with Leonidas about availability and timing. Or, more likely with Dilios since he seems to be a bit more receptive to those sort of things.

Shaking my head, I try to focus on explaining something that, quite frankly, I am not sure I am even qualified to attempt. But, in the best American tradition, I'll give it a go and if I screw it up…hopefully it will at least be enough to get these people out of my house.

"Well…?" This from Guinevere, the voice of annoyance. Well, besides Lancelot. And Arthur. Is it really any wonder the three of them are so attracted to each other…?

I take a deep breath and decide to plough forward.

"Ok. Well. As I was saying, ultimately, you," I motion to encompass everyone present in the room, "form the basis of the British people...who, in turn, create the British Empire." Sounds reasonable to me and it seems to be captivating them – even my back row dwellers are quiet. "So it kinda goes that you beat back the Saxons, but they're only the first of your troubles…more people come, trying to take over…"

"An' we kick their arses back to wherefer they came from, right?" Bors chimes in, drawing cheers from the Knights and what I am guessing is agreement from the Woads in their language.

"Umm…no. Eventually people invade that take over the island. But," I hastily add when I see the tension growing, "but their takeover just makes the whole British idea thing stronger, you know. Things progress, your descendants learn to make better warfare and pretty soon they're taking over the world. I mean, there was a saying at one time that went something to the effect of 'the sun never sets on British soil' or something like that, meaning that the Empire was so widespread, the sun was always shining on some portion of it."

I pause to let this bit of information sink in, as well as plan my next information volley.

"Ok…so everyone's cool with this, right? You no longer control the British islands," I notice looks of confusion, "oh…did I forget to mention, you take over the entire island of Britain and move over to Ireland as well because it was there and close and it seemed like the thing to do. Well, again, not you specifically, but your descendants." This brings more nods and some excitement.

This is going so much better than I anticipated; and, apparently, than Uther anticipated because he is now looking rather frustrated. I smile sweetly in his direction. Oh, old man, if you only knew what I have in store for you ultimately…I stop myself from cackling but just barely.

"So. Now we've covered that the native Britons are conquered by invaders but that doesn't end things, it really only makes them better in the long run. Your descendants establish an Empire that, quite frankly, makes the Roman Empire look tiny in comparison." I smile extra big at Uther and Arthur as I note that fact and make certain to illustrate the word 'tiny' by making a small pinching gesture with my hand. "There are kings and queens and you guys just go around the globe kicking ass, subjugating people and hoisting your flag in their backyards." I snicker slightly and think 'but do you have a flag?' – I am so not explaining that one to this group though so I move on quickly.

"All right. The world is populated by, for all intents and purposes, royal ass kissers," I nod to Bors who smiles widely. "But…what happens when you have a large population of royal ass kissers, who really don't want to be…?" I look around. "Dag? Having been volunteered as a reluctant royal ass kisser, what do you think?"

Dagonet glares at me and gives Bors a similarly nasty look when the latter starts to protest. "They don't like it."

"Precisely. And, as most of the occupants of this room can answer, what happens when people are forced into that role…?" I look around as the realization dawns on those surrounding me. "Anyone? Anyone??"

"They start to fight back."

"That they do, Galahad. That they do. And that is what happens. Wars ensue and, well, having territories so far away makes them rather hard to defend properly…"

"Kind of like your country?"

I give Uther the dirtiest look I can muster. I should have known the old dragon wouldn't fail to mention that.

"Yes, Uther," I grate out between clenched teeth, "rather like America. We were a British colony, got tired of it and rebelled. Hence, we are no longer a British colony."

Bedwyr waves dismissively at Uther. "Forget all that. Tell us about the British Empire now." His voice is eager and I am about to feel really terrible.

"Ah. Well, again, as with all Empires, things start to unravel. Not really militarily, though that contributes. It's more of an economic thing." More confused looks so I dig out my wallet and produce some coins. "These shiny things become increasingly valuable, to the point where they rule some people's lives. They make the world go round, so to speak. If you have lots of them, the world is a happy, shiny, fun place. If you don't have lots of them, depending on how little of them you have, the world can be a bleak, gray, dismal place." This brings nods of understanding, which is reassuring that they are somewhat grasping what I relay.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…" I lock eyes with Uther, daring him to say something else. "The British Empire goes through a series of changes, some good, some not so good. All those territories that were fought so hard for, most of them are…ummm…given back to the native peoples." That sounds proper and should go over with this group. "But, don't fret, don't despair. You still have your island home. Nobody's conquering you any time soon. And you guys are even bigger than the Romans, believe it or don't."

I pause and smile as the murmurs begin.

"Oh yes indeed. Much, much huger than the Romans. You give the world so many things, it's impossible to list it all out. Music and literature and…lots of other great stuff…it's just impossible to begin to detail everything that the British have given the world." Again, I decide to keep this on an upbeat nature and not discuss the less-desirable contributions.

I snap my fingers. "And, hey…I almost forgot…you do still have a monarchy. How cool is that? I mean, in America, we have pretend royals, but you guys still have the real, honest-to-goodness thing…bloodline traceable and all that sort of stuff." I smile excitedly as I make my way to the bookshelf, winking at Uther who is looking utterly perplexed by this new tangent. The back row dwellers realize what book I am reaching for and nearly trample everyone in their path, attempting to get to the target book before I do.

"And this book…oh, let me tell you about this book… It contains something that, well, let's just say, many of the British people cling to even today." I let out a laugh as I turn back to the group brandishing a well-worn copy of 'The Once and Future King' by T.H. White.

Curses and groans reach my ears from the ones who surged forward in a vain attempt to secure the novel. I look over at Uther who, I must say, has gone rather pale and is not looking well at all. Wow…I just might be able to wring revenge out of this one simple thing on everyone who caused me so much grief today. My evening is suddenly looking so much better…


	4. Once and Future King

**Disclaimer: **Again, let me state for the record, I own no one except me and the story idea.

**A/N:** If you haven't read White's 'Once and Future King', I can't call it a "must-read"; alternately, it also isn't the worst book you could read. Though some of the Knights will definitely beg to differ…

* * *

I return to my chair and can barely keep myself from giggling. I almost feel bad. Almost but not quite. Well, ok, I do feel rather bad for the guys who now have to endure being part of the Orkney clan since I think White really does seem to have a personal vendetta with them…but I'm rather sure I'll be over it pretty quick. I take a quick glance at my watch; yep, over it already.

"Alrighty then…" I smile at Uther, whose expression is vacillating between confusion and anger. "Where shall I start...?" My train of thought is interrupted by a commotion at the book shelf. There is a yelling match going on that is quickly deteriorating into a shoving match. Oh my, the Orkney's have decided to show just how special their familial ties can be…

I clear my throat. Loudly. "Hello…Clan Orkney…" I wave as if that will somehow help stop the shoving that is now taking place. As I get out of my chair, I notice Mordred has appeared to join his half-brothers. Nice. He always…helps them lose control so effectively. Instigator. At least Gawain has decided to stay clear. When he gets into "Orkney mode" as I call it, things get broken and he ends up naked out in the snow. Don't ask.

I try again. "YO! Dysfunctional Clan Orkney!" This gets their attention. I move closer to observe what is going on, noting Agravaine and Mordred distance themselves a bit too hastily. "Gaheris…Gareth…" I look at the book in their hands. "Le Morte D'Arthur? Really? What on earth…were you trying to smuggle that out of here? What were you going to do, tear it in half and each one shove a half down your pants?" I am laughing as I finish but quickly sober when I realize they are not and are, in fact, looking rather sheepish. I snatch the book, shuddering in disgust, and turn to the other two – Mordred and Agravaine – holding my hands out for whatever they have. Mordred sighs and turns over King Arthur. I persist and he produces The Compleat Cast of Characters in Literature as well. Satisfied that I have de-booked him, I turn now to Agravaine, smiling at his attempted innocence.

"Give." I hold out my hands and he sighs resignedly. From him I collect Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, The Return of King Arthur and The Mists of Avalon. I shake my head, not even bothering to enquire just how he was planning to get the books out.

"Now. If the attempted book thievery is over, let's begin."

"Ummm…what were all those books?"

"Books about Arthurian legend."

"About me?" Arthur sounds excited and I am only too glad to crush that happiness.

"No. Not only about you, sheesh. What do you think? The entire Arthurian universe revolves around you?" I roll my eyes. "There are other people in the Arthurian series. Seriously, it would suck rocks if you were the ONLY character in the entire series."

I feel a migraine starting and just want to clear them all out of here as fast as possible.

"Alright. So…is the book thieving over?" I look at the back row, where the Orkney clan has resumed their seats. They're glaring at me now; this book is their least favourite. Most days, just motioning toward it is enough to send them scurrying. Having it in my hands has to be twisting their innards into tight little knots, the thought of which, I can't lie, makes me smile and gives me warm, fuzzy feelings right now.

"And can we all agree to just keep our cake holes closed, let the nice lady speak," I point to myself here, in case there is some confusion over who I meant, "and we'll get this wrapped up all neat and tidy so everyone can just be on their merry little way…" I really want to tell them where I would like them to go, but I'd be too tempted to start drawing pictures.

The group nods at me, though the back row continues to simply scowl. I shrug. So I'll end up paying for this later. It'll be worth it. I hope.

Clearing my throat, I take a deep breath and decide to just plunge in.

"Arthurian legend contains many, many…versions of stories of the Knights. The Woads, well, we'll just call you the filler people and go on from there, 'k?" This brings nods and agreement, so I'm once again feeling optimistic. "Oh, except you, Merlin. You get mentioned by name." A collective _ooooh_ and _aaaaah_ sound fills the room; awe-filled from the Woads, sarcasm laden from the back row.

Sighing, I return to the explanation.

"Anyway. As Arthur alluded to, this is kinda sorta the story of his life…not just this book, but Arthurian legend as a whole. I prefer this book in some ways because, well, I have to admit Arthur, I smile every time I read you referred to as 'Wart'." At this, laughter breaks out and chants of 'Wart' begin with, you guessed it, my pals in the back starting it. "And, to be honest, that's about the only reason I like this book. I think the man has issues with certain persons for completely un-warranted reasons." Lively agreement comes from the back and is hushed by the others.

"But…I don't…why…"

I look at Arthur and hope he can read the 'will-you-shut-up-for-once-and-let-me-speak' message in my eyes. I want to say this, but to do so effectively I would have to add many expletives and either strangle the man or smack him – neither of which would probably be wise since it does seem the Woads have become slightly awe-struck by him. That was definitely not part of the plan. Crap.

"Anywaywho. So Arthur becomes king…"

"Uh… 'scuse me…"

I look for the source of interruption and am shocked. Is that really Bors being so polite?

He scratches his ruff and looks around; I can tell he's feeling slightly sheepish by whatever he wants to ask. This must mean it's something good.

"Uh…I was just wonderin' that…well…if'n Arthur becomes king that means that someone was already king an' well, I was jus' wonderin'…" Bors' voice trails off and he looks slightly embarrassed.

Oh, I would kiss that man if I knew Vanora wouldn't crush me like an insect.

"Funny you should ask, Bors. Let me tell you." I put on my best fairy-tale-telling voice and sit down in my chair, making sure to get all comfy and smug. "Uther was king before Arthur." I smile at the man himself and bat my lashes a bit for effect. "And he was…a good king, a fair king…"

"A king with a lot on his plate and not a lot of resources to work with. So he did the best he could and then his son becomes king. Can we move on?" Uther waves his hands dismissively as heads turn first toward him, then toward me. I don't have to look to know that the back row dwellers are smirking and trying their hardest not to bust a gut.

"Well now, Uther…let's not be so hasty, shall we? The good people want to know all about…"

The look he gives me…I want to reach for one of the lovely shields that have been left under my desk, but I resist. No, the best way to handle him will be to just go on with the explanation.

"According to all accounts, Uther is a good and just and fair king. As a father, however, let's just say he was an absentee daddy and let it go, eh?" I smile widely at him as his scowl deepens. "Merlin raises Wart, I mean Arthur, and eventually Arthur becomes king by pulling a sword from a stone, leading to the founding of the Round Table, complete with the Knights…." I add the last part hastily, hoping no one will notice.

"Who he tries to kill…"

"Yes…yes…what are you complaining about, Mordred? You survive. Really. Get over it."

"He's not perfect."

"Yes. Neither are you, Mordred, so just stop right now." I hold my hand up to silence his protest. "Really. I mean it." I use the stony Tristran look I've been working on lately and to my amazement, it shuts him up! Though I suspect the hard poke from Agravaine next to him helps a bit too.

"Yeah, Mordred. Shut up and let the lady speak. Maybe she'll move on to Lancelot. Or Ugly-a-lot, as we affectionately call him."

I sigh. Of course Agravaine had to chime in about Lancelot. I look at our Lancelot and see the confusion writ on his features.

"What? I am not… Tell them I'm not... You're just jealous, you oversized, smelly ogre who wanted to bed his own mother…" Lancelot has stood and is moving toward Agravaine, who has likewise risen and motions Lancelot closer.

I decide to step in. After all, forest droppings are easily steamed out of carpeting; blood, not so easily.

"Alright. Alright. Everyone just settle it down a couple notches. Yes, Lancelot, in the legends you are not at all an attractive man. In fact, truthfully, you are written to be downright, blatantly, inexplicably ugly." I watch as his lip droops and he assumes the wounded puppy expression. "Go ahead. I'll wait."

He bounds across the room into the open arms of his commanding officer and said officer's wife. I really do wonder if they have some sort of weird ménage à trois thing going because I've just never believe that Arthur didn't know… Whatever. That's their business and the less I know about it, the happier I (and my stomach) am.

"So. Now. Does everyone have all their little comments and remarks and whatnot out of their system? Can we leave off who wants to sleep with whom, no matter how revolting? And above all, may I please continue so all of you can get the hell out of my house and leave me alone?"

The entire room nods as one.

"Good. Now. This book isn't actually all that important," I shoot a warning glance toward the back row and Mouse puts his hand over Agravaine's mouth. "It's really the title of the book that means anything. Once and future king and since I know nobody in this room except me gets this, I'll explain."

I refasten my ponytail for the umpteenth time. Definitely gonna be a deep conditioner night after a long, hot shower.

"So…obviously we all get that Arthur, at one time, was king of Britain. Since he is mortal, it only follows on that he kicks off at some point. Of course, jackass, you choose to do it fighting your own son who is…I don't even know, help me out here – he's got to be oh, maybe, say something like thirty years your junior – and you expected to kick his ass…? Really." I shake my head and mutter 'idiot' under my breath.

"I win."

"Not exactly there, poster boy for inbreeding. You don't get away either, in the majority of accountings. Dear old daddy here has some tricks up his sleeve and you end up biting it as well. Obviously, we can conclude from this that the brains did not run in the male side of the Pendragon family." I look pointedly at all three Pendragon men, daring even one of them to argue. "In fact, I think only Lancelot here walks away and that isn't unscathed either."

Hands shoot up all over and since I already know the questions, I ignore them. "Do I really need to run down the list? Seriously? Fine. Gaheris and Gareth, Lancelot whacks you guys. You too, Agravaine – in many accounts, outside Guinevere's bedchamber. Let's not delve into motives right now, dearest, but I will clarify that it has nothing to do with sleeping with her, ok? Gawain, you too bite it at the hands of Lancelot outside his castle. Again, we won't delve into motives. Galahad, you…well…you're on some island in a cave being all chaste and happy with a cup." This brings laughter from everyone and I have to admit, the picture I get is quite amusing and I allow myself to laugh as well before I pick up again. "Bors…Dag…you guys are well and happy somewhere, but not like Galahad happy with the cup and all…just normal happy. I think. Tristran…yeah…you've got your own set of problems and we won't touch on those here but it involves women as well, so make your own assumptions." By all assessments, the Scout looks pleased with this and produces another apple from somewhere to slice and dice.

Taking a few deep breaths, I look around to make sure everyone is still following. Looks like they are.

"Well…turns out that supposedly inscribed on Arthur's tomb or headstone is wording to the effect that here lies the once and future king. Well…it seems some people take that…well…seriously. They are waiting on you, Arthur, to return to Britain in the hour of greatest need and take the throne again, lead them out of adversity and…well…take care of business." I'm not really sure how else to explain it, so secretly I hope they've somehow gotten it.

"Not Uther?"

Bless Bors' little heart. Really. I am beginning to think I am a bit too hard on the man and his sense of timing. Must remember to write a future fic where Bors gets a bit of a better shake.

"No. Not Uther. They don't want him back and have, in fact, all but forgotten about Uther. In a lot of stories he doesn't even get mentioned by name." I smile sweetly as he scowls, throws his hands up and stalks off. Thank the gods. One down, I do a quick count of the room, giving up after I hit twenty-five and decide to call it a whole lot more to go until I have peace again. Unfortunately, I am about to get anything but.

"Let's go then."

I blink hard. Did I miss something somewhere? Arthur has stood and is surveying the room full of warriors.

"Ummm…Arthur… Excuse me as I think I missed something. Go where, exactly?"

"To Britain!" He sounds positively triumphant. I swear the man seems to be glowing.

"Why…?"

It's his turn to look at me like I'm the idiot.

"To save her. Them. It. You yourself said before the Empire had crumbled, so it is my duty to go there and return it to its splendour."

Oh dear gods what have I done? I can only think of my friends in Britain being invaded by this…group…on their island… They'd kill me. They'd get on a plane, come here to my home and kill me and any sound-minded judge would pardon them. I'm fairly certain of this.

"Ohhhkay there, Artorius…let's just calm down a bit and think this through." Think it through. I haven't even thought this through. There's only one possible reason why he can't do this. "You and everyone else in this room are, well, dead. Dead men – and women," I add when Guinevere gives me one of her looks, "don't fight battles, don't win wars and most especially don't run empires. Oh so sorry, looks like you'll have to cancel the invasion, call off the war, take the kids and go find some other way to pass the afternoon."

I smile as I watch Arthur and company turn this over in their minds, hoping they will not question further, merely accept and move on. Accept and move on. I am silently chanting this, trying to project it into the minds of the group. It seems to work; Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot rise as one and walk off, arms around each other (I swear to gods there's something incredibly creepy going on there but I still don't want to know). I assume the rest will follow in time. Truthfully, as long as they stay silent, I don't particularly care.

Closing my eyes and letting out a sigh of contentment, I relax into my chair. Peace at last.

_Cough. Cough. Cough._

My eyes spring open. Why didn't they follow him? It was perfect. They were supposed to follow him off into the sunset or whatever…

"Ummm… We have some other questions…"

I don't know if I should cry or just beg someone to run me through with their sword. Instead I let my head hit the desk and wonder just how long this can go on.

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**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and encouraged. Feel free to grab the Knight, Woad or Once and Future King of your choice on the way out as my holiday gift to you. No refunds, no returns, no exchanges, so please choose wisely. Thanks so much and happy holidays!


	5. Ireland? What's Their Story?

**Disclaimer: **You know it; I know it; we all know it…I own nothing except myself and some days I'm not even sure of that.

**A/N:** Taken a while. Sorry bout that. The muse took leave…and I've just not been in the humour mood – hate it when RL gets in the way of fanficalicious funtime. This chapter is for Athenarena – a slightly altered version of your request; I hope you enjoy nonetheless. And my apologies to everyone – no insults meant toward the Irish…or the British (again). Please also note - I changed the rating because some characters couldn't contain their potty mouths.

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I feel…sick. They were supposed to leave. Go away and let me be in peace. But no, they didn't. I turn my head so I can survey the room and feel a bit better – the threesome is off doing…whatever…and Uther hasn't returned. Two major pluses by any standard.

"First of all…what and where is this Ireland you mentioned?"

"Huh? Oh…well…it would have been called Hibernia by the Romans. Hibernia to you Roman era folks, Ireland to us modern peoples."

"Why?"

"How the…I don't know and so help me gods if anyone reaches for that book…" I narrow my eyes and dare someone. With the way this day has unfolded, I am thinking bloodshed might not be a bad thing after all, carpet cleaning be damned.

"Well it isn't as if anyone said the Romans were bright…" Yipes. When did Dagonet become such a critic of the Romans? Thought he always kinda sorta liked Arthur and his lot…

"Yes, actually they were quite bright…at least in the beginning. I mean, it does take some sort of brains to direct the brawn to conquer most of the known world. It's just…when the sex and drugs…"

Before I can finish my thought, a voice chimes in from the back, "and rock and roll!" I laugh and shake my head at Mordred while making mental note that it is now officially time to hide every KISS cd I can locate, if he hasn't already pilfered them.

"OK…so now we all know where we're talking about, right?" There is a collective nod, which is always a good thing from this gaggle. "Now what's the question? Or," I am hopeful here, "was that the question?"

"That was not the question." Merlin. I am beginning to think of putting him into the Uther classification – loathsome pain in my arse. "The question is – how did they become and why are they no longer part of the British Empire?"

I am stunned. Is he serious? That's like asking me to recite an entire history of Ireland, which, I might add, I do not know. It's been way too many years since my college class on this particular subject. I close my eyes and try to will them all to disappear back into whatever forest they appeared from. Opening my eyes a slit, I am disappointed that they are indeed still here and, yet again, I have failed with clicking my heels and wishing them to a faraway forest or, barring that, Kansas. Got to get a pair of red shoes (I'll skip the little dog, thanks but no) – then maybe it'll work…or I'll end up in Kansas. Either way, works for me.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" I sigh because I know the answer. I'm apparently just a sucker for asking pointless questions today.

Merlin and the Woads shake their heads; the Knights simply shrug with their own brand of underwhelming enthusiasm.

"Alright but I'm going to have to use the computer for this one because, quite frankly I don't know and so help me gods if any of you say one word…" I point at the assembly and hope it conveys that although I haven't actually thought of suitable retribution to threaten at this time, I will. Eventually.

Wikipedia. My new bestest friend. Ireland. I skim the results page. Oh lordy this is gonna be complex.

"Well? What does it say?"

"It says Bors ought to shut the hell up before he gets his arse kicked because she was just starting to like you and might have stopped me but not any more." Agravaine's response is so matter-of-fact I can't help but laugh; neither can the others, including Dagonet. Even the Woads are chuckling as Bors sputters.

"Alright. Calm it down you two. Carpeting. Hard to clean blood out of." Kay's quiet assertion restores order. "Now, if you please…" He motions me to continue.

"Right. So. Ireland. Formerly Hibernia. Romans maybe or maybe not had dealings but they never conquered it. Christians arrived. Vikings arrived." I look up to see if I need to explain any of that but no show of hands with questions, so I plunge onward. "Let's see here…oh, it gets messy and let's just say, for the sake of argument that Britain gains control through various means and measures, shall we? Is everyone good with that?"

Shrugs and nods all around. Good. This is going well. I just have to remember that the people I am speaking to form the base of the British people…not the Irish. Did I mention they're armed? Yeah…I think I'm going to tread real carefully on this topic.

"It's not the best relationship, but it works so really nobody messes with it. For a while. Then after a while, Ireland gets tired of Britain telling them what to do so they try to rebel, with no success except to…well…piss of the British, honestly. Britain retains control and that leads to a whole slew of troubles between Britain and Ireland and within Ireland itself…" I'm skimming quicker now. History class is coming back to me somewhat but I'm not closing my lifeline (a.k.a., Wikipedia) anytime soon.

My concentration is broken when a rather pungent scent assails my nose. Sniffing, I wonder if Tristran did finally make good on his threat against the cats. I feel warm breath on my shoulder and now know it's just Merlin. Better him than his psycho daughter. My mind briefly wonders where the threesome has gotten to but I quickly banish that thought since it could lead to a whole series of images I just don't want to confront.

"Can I help you?" I turn toward Merlin, who is much too close for my comfort, hoping he will get the message. That message being: back away right now. I am relieved when Bedwyr steps forward and taps Merlin on the shoulder, getting him to move back a few steps.

"So that is how Ireland becomes part of the Empire, but how does it leave…?"

I sigh. Why me? Again I wonder what I did in a past lifetime to warrant this and again, I can't think of what might possibly have been so horrid. Well, that's not entirely true as I run down a mental checklist. There are a couple things that could be highly suspect but isn't the universe supposed to be about love and forgiveness…?

A cough brings me back to the present and my predicament. Explaining the current status of Ireland and why it is not part of the British Empire.

"The simple explanation is that the British Empire no longer exists for all those reasons I gave however long ago that was. So, therefore, Ireland can't be part of it." I hope they'll buy this. Somehow though, I know in my gut they won't.

"Simple, but not quite a full explanation. Why don't you expound on this, hmmm?"

Uther. I used to like him. Then I hated him. Now I really, really despise him. Though, admittedly, I have to admire his sense of timing. Not too shabby for an old coot.

The Woads look from him to me, back to him and back to me. I want to laugh, one of those humourless laughs you emit when you've been caught red-handed and, well, nothing you say is going to get you out of trouble…yeah, that laugh. But it sticks in my throat. I refuse to go down in defeat and begin to formulate a plan – not a good plan, mind you, but a plan nonetheless.

"Honestly, Uther, I have no idea what to say." This seems to have caught everyone off-guard and I wonder if my plan just might not be so bad after all. "Since you were one-time ruler of Britain, I was kinda hoping you might lend me a helping hand, you know – being all official and kingly and such you would have insights into the socio-economic and political reasonings and machinations that I, as a humble and simple mere civilian, would never be able to fully comprehend or so eloquently explain as you…" I give my best damsel-in-need smile, knowing he and a few others will see right through it, but hoping the vast majority won't.

Surprisingly, my back-row buddies keep their choking and laughter in check – for once. I think I might actually have confused them as much as the Woads, though one glance at Mordred tells me he at least caught on to what I am working at – and he approves from the thumbs-up he's given me. Excellent! Nothing like having a conniving son of a bitch on your side when facing off against another conniving son of a bitch.

"Oh yes, Uther…show us that remarkable Pendragon intelligence and please, do assist the good lady in her explanation to the peoples," Mordred cannot help snickering here, "ah…let me re-phrase that, to YOUR peoples how they gained and then lost an island…" He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow while I try to contain my own snickering; for a brief moment I honestly thought he was going to refer to them as 'peeps' and I would never have been able to control myself.

Uther looks absolutely flabbergasted as the entire group turns to him. I am sure at least the Woad contingent is fully expecting he will provide the explanation they long for. Truthfully, in a way, so am I. Don't get me wrong, Uther is many things, but I will give the man his due – he's a smartie.

He recovers nicely though and straightens his tunic before looking Mordred square in the eye and smiling a rather disconcerting smile. He then strides toward me and, somehow, seems to grow taller. Damn it – how do they do that anyway? Releasing his most charming smile, he turns to the group and begins.

"It is all a matter of efficacy. The British people, that is to say, you and I, are used to certain…things and ways of these things being…" Uther pauses and the entire Woad population (well, at least the ones in my office) leans forward under his spell.

Oh, this man can work a room…he's good. I have a sudden sinking feeling that my plan just ate itself, me possibly even Mordred. I don't even risk a look at the back row, knowing that if Mordred is going down, he's taking the entire lot with him and, well, I really don't have any desire to see the rude gestures aimed my way.

"At one time, Hibernia – or Ireland, to some," he smirks in my direction and I clasp my hands together to avoid flipping him off, "made good sense for a burgeoning empire to ally itself with. However, the disenfranchisement of the people led to incalculable issues on many levels that no one was prepared to address… Socio-economic factors, including, but not solely limited to industrial versus agrarian roles and scenarios, played a very large part in the eventual crumble of the British ability to effectively govern Hibernia, thereby leading the British to negotiate with the Irish for a resolution – one that was mutually beneficial to both sides, of course."

We all sit for a few minutes in silence. I know I am trying to follow what exactly Uther just said and I had an entire course on the damn topic, so I can just imagine what the Woads are thinking. I am hoping they think the old man is yanking their collective chain and they decide to gut him and be done… I don't have long to wait though.

"What in all the…? Seriously, Uther… Efficacy? Ways of things being? Disenfranchisement? Socio-economic factors? Industrial versus agrarian? What sort of bullshit was that? Demonstrating that you read the dictionary lately? What? Couldn't find a way to utilize disestablishmentarianism in the explanation? Perhaps you should have worked harder…" Mordred is laughing hard now, while Uther struggles to remain, well, kingly.

"Oh…Dred…maybe antidisestablishmentarianism would have…" Agravaine cannot finish his thought before laughter overtakes him, sending the back row into more gales of laughter.

For good measure, I reach down to locate my shield; still under the desk – good. I have a distinct feeling I might end up needing it.

Merlin is looking from Mordred to Uther in confusion. Suddenly he looks at me. Oh crap. I know that look and it does not make me happy.

"You." He points that stupid wooden staff thing at me. "I asked you to explain and so explain you shall. No...bullshit," he tries the word and, apparently decides he likes it because he breaks into a smile that I am guessing is supposed to be happy but comes across really creepy. "You need to explain what happened to this Ireland."

"Nothing happened TO Ireland, you blue putz." Mordred, ever the diplomat when it's not his arse being threatened. "It's still there. It just isn't part of the British Empire anymore. Because the stupid Empire doesn't exist today and despite what she said earlier, it's probably because it was run by some idiot with the surname of 'Pendragon' to begin with!"

"As if you have room to talk, you illegitimate usurper who can't even do that correctly! Your mother had more ambition and brains than the entire lot of you combined!" Uther is moving toward Mordred now and I sense the carpet cleaning bill is about to go through the roof.

"ENOUGH!"

The room freezes.

Dagonet moves forward until he is between Mordred and Uther. Glaring at the Orkney contingent, he motions for them to return to the back row, which they do – thankfully without shoving, swearing or bloodshed. He then turns to Uther, who wisely holds his hands up and moves to the doorway from whence he came. (Hey – that almost sounded literary…oh, sorry…)

"So…let's understand this, yeah?" Dagonet fixes me with those silver grey orbs and I swallow hard. He definitely won't stand for game playing, so I simply nod and let him have the floor.

"Ireland, or Hibernia," he adds, glancing toward Uther, "is an island full of people that, for various reasons, including their survival, allied themselves with Britain. This allegiance worked well for everyone until the British – us – started treating them more and more like royal arse kissers," he looks pointedly at Bors who wisely diverts his eyes, "and the Irish get tired of it. Good so far?"

"Ummm…yeah…I'm not gonna argue finer points, so yeah…you're all good." Hey – if Dagonet wants to give the explanation a go, I'm all for it. Not my original plan but that's just fine by me.

"Which, of course, causes problems because once a royal arse starts getting kissed, they'll do pretty much whatever is necessary to ensure their arses remain being kissed. Some of the Irish people want out of the situation, some want to stay, so they divide the island into two pieces, have a few good drunken brawls between them because what good is it if you don't bust open a few skulls, before they realize how idiotic they're behaving, make up and go for a few tankards while telling the British to piss off and get off the island, which they do. More or less. Any questions?" Dagonet surveys the room and, gee, imagine it, nobody has any questions. Nodding at me, Dag returns to his place by the wall.

"Ummm…okay then. There you have it. Thanks for coming. Please take the dirt that you trekked in with you out as you leave and…umm…go do whatever it is you all do when you're not bugging me, I guess." I smile and hope they get the message.

The Woads look at Merlin who shrugs, waves his staff and the Woads part so he can exit before they file out after him. The guy must've been Moses in a previous life. Really. Parting seas, parting people…it's all the same, isn't it?

I get up and follow them, waving good-bye as I usher them out the door. They do not take the dirt with but, at this point, I'm not making a case about it. Turning around, I realize the Knights have not left but are staring intently at me. Crap. What do I have to do to get rid of these people so I can go take a hot shower? I briefly think about poison in the tankards…but with my luck that will only result in them puking their guts out on my carpeting. Not that Galahad doesn't do that with regularity as it is…I swear he takes lessons from the cats.

Sighing I walk back to my chair. "What is it this time?"

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**A/N: **So…here we go…there've been a couple requests but I have to ask: Are they still amusing? Should I tackle trying to explain the whole Wales/Scotland thing? Or the American Revolution?


	6. Interlude and Invasion

**Disclaimer:** You know. And if you don't…take my word for it. I should also point out I am not being compensated for product name-dropping. Swear to gods. If I were making money off this…let's just say you'd all be invited to one helluva party.

**A/N:** This chapter is going to be a bit weird, even for me. You'll understand in a bit. Sit tight, fasten whatever safety equipment you have brought along and enjoy (I hope). Also, this fic has been slightly edited for language to meet the rating scale and not force it into the 'M' category. Feel free to substitute your own expletives at the appropriate places (you'll know).

* * *

I so cannot believe they let me barter my way out of the last explanation. I just…they just…I couldn't take giving another history lesson with that bunch. Albeit, the Woads did leave peacefully (I think they are secretly worshiping Uther now, but I'll work on ruining that another day)…now it's just those damn Knights. Ah well, without them, my life would be empty. I will never, ever tell them that though. It's my little secret.

I'm actually rather cheery today. My son is at Grandma's, husband at work so I have the house to myself. Time to go find out what they wanted a couple of days ago. Surprisingly, I find myself whistling a catchy little tune…until I walk past the back door, that is. I just happen to glance out and notice some really huge ass divots in my backyard. Now, we either have some really, really large moles who have decided to take up residence…or there is something else going on and my head sinks as I hear the shouting; they are involved. Whatever those divots are, I can take a pretty good guess that somehow, someway, the Knights are responsible. Silently I retract what I said about missing them as I open the back door and walk out onto the step.

The Knights have assembled on one side of the yard and appear to be, well, if I'm completely honest, scared. I'm pretty sure Galahad's wet himself a couple times now, judging by his expression. I'm beginning to re-think that giant mole theory…

"What the…chutzpah…is going on back here? Do you know how long it took to get grass to even overtake the weeds back here? Huh? Do you? What the…fudgie brownie bakers …?" I stop my tirade when I hear a distinctive click and whine that definitely does not belong to any contraption in my backyard.

The Knights take a collective step back, pinning themselves against the fence. That was actually really coordinated and briefly I wonder if they'd consider a synchronized swimming team chapter…of course, we'd need to teach Dag to swim first. Two neighbours do have pools that they have offered me use of any time I want…

"We are sorry. We did not mean to cause such…disruption."

My eyes close and silently I hope I didn't hear what I just heard. I decide to test the proverbial water. "Optimus Prime?"

"Yes."

I sigh. "Bring anybody else?" I already know the answer but I decide to ask anyway because, you know, when you have a twenty-six foot tall alien robot standing in your backyard, can you do anything else?

"Of course. They are all with me."

"Ok…well…umm…" I scratch the back of my neck and wonder where all this went so horribly wrong. Vaguely I wonder if Prime's version of 'all' means, as it seems to with the Knights, that even the dead ones miraculously, through some special gift of the universe (which seems hellbent on my insanity), are with him. Because, you know, if it's only like four of them…

"Get them out of here. This is OUR HOUSE, not theirs…MAKE THEM GO!" Surprisingly, that sounded like Uther having a panic attack.

"Make us, dirtbag. Are you feeling lucky, punk?" Oh, lovely. Ironhide did manage to make it. Just what I needed: another crotchety old soldier but this one's trigger happy and thinks he's Clint Eastwood to boot. Lovely. However, I do not think I can just tell this one to piss off…he does have a plasma cannon and isn't afraid to use it, as I am guessing that is what happened to my turf.

Oh, the neighbours are really gonna hate me now. I can visualize the letter they're sending to the homeowner's association already – Knights that threaten their dogs, twenty-foot-plus alien robots with plasma cannons… Well at least it'll spice up the next homeowners meeting.

"What in all the Empire is going on back here…?"

Seriously? What the nutty fudge crackers…? Arthur is back, with his shadows. Note the plural because, yep, the blue meanie has returned with him instead of going home. I guess she didn't get that notification of relocation…will have to take that up with Merlin a bit later. I think today I have some, ummm, larger problems looming.

"Well…Artorius…in case you have become blind or deaf, some…ummm…"

"We are the Autobots. We are here to defend mankind from the evil…"

"Uh, yeah, Optimus, could you do me a favour and let me do the explaining? Please?" I crane my neck to look up at him, simultaneously holding my hands up to gesture him to stop.

"Very well." He sounds slightly peeved but backs up a step or two. Hard to tell after he smushes my lilac bushes. I hear what sounds like a mumbled apology and I wave it off – he seems like a lovely chap, so I'm willing to cut him some slack. At least my husband tucked the grill in close to the house yesterday so that's safe – for now.

"Alright. So. Now that everyone knows who everyone is – more or less," I add that part when I see Lancelot opening his mouth, "let's move along to how we can resolve this."

"Easy. Send. Them. Home. Or. Wherever. Just. Not. Here." Mordred punctuates each word by pointing to a different Autobot. At least I think he has; turning, I am able to confirm this as four of them are in my yard and another four seem to be standing in the park across the street. Nice mechs that they are, they do wave in greeting. I can only sigh and give a half-hearted wave in return.

Why me? Really? I find myself asking this question a lot lately and, frankly, it's starting to piss me off that I keep asking the universe to explain itself and I get no answer. Again, though, I file that train of thought away for contemplation should I ever manage to get a moment to myself in this lifetime.

"Well, guys, I hate to tell you this, but they're in the same boat as you when it comes to home." The Knights exchange confused looks. "Their home world doesn't exist anymore, so they can't go back there. I would think that would give you plenty of common conversational elements for at least the next hour." Now I get confused looks from both Bots and Knights. "I need a shower." And I need to figure out what to do, but they don't need to know that.

"She does. It is true, Optimus. A thorough cleansing would be of great…" I glare at Ratchet. Stupid medic with an overdeveloped sense of smell. I ought to go rub myself up against him and see what he has to say then. I do not, deciding to be the bigger person (figuratively, of course) and retreat to the house.

I am uttering quiet prayers that they will somehow manage to get along for at least a little while. I briefly thought about offering the Knights the safety of the house, but judging from how tightly they were clinging to the fence, I didn't figure that was an option. Finally upstairs, I close the blinds and start the shower while peeling off pyjamas; Ratchet is an idiot…I do not smell…well, at least not much. I mean it was hot out last night and I hate air conditioning…

"Pardon me. But we seem to have a…situation and I do not think that you can cleanse yourself at this time."

I cannot suppress the shriek but I do manage to suppress the urge to wet myself as a giant robot eye peers in through the blinds. He motions me toward the window and I see the problem now. Apparently, the Knights have decided to try to be "stealthy" and chase off the Bots…a poorly conceived plan, but it does show they are willing to work together. Also demonstrates that Arthur, Lancelot and the Blue One are not the brightest, since they seem to have been designated as cannon fodder. Oh, so tempting to just let this one play out…so very, very tempting. I must have giggled sadistically because Optimus clears what I am going to call his throat and mutters something about me getting dressed.

"Fine…but no more smart observations of how I smell…or what I smell like…or what smells I am giving off…" I am pulling on some shorts and the appropriate undergarments when the telltale plasma cannon whine and boom shakes the house. Phruck. Hastily grabbing a shirt, I go to the window and accept Prime's offer to help me to the ground.

Ironhide. How did I know? Let's just hope he didn't kill the neighbours dogs…or anyone not part of the terrible threesome.

"Ironhide!" Prime and I shout at the same time.

"My backyard. My reprimands. Don't you dare try to out-shout me." I whisper this to Optimus and follow it with a glare as he sets me down. I swear I hear him say something about squishy little fleshy, which I choose to ignore.

"Must you do that? In my backyard? Jesus H. Christ, it is only…" I honestly don't know what time it is, so I'll have to wing this one, "it is very freaking early, you trigger happy…" I look at him pointedly since I don't know what calling him what I really want to might cause him to do. "Stop shooting anything that moves, ok? NO SHOOTING. ANYONE. ANYTHING. Just…NO SHOOTING."

"But…"

"No but's…"

"But…"

"I already told you, no but's. No exceptions. Nobody gets shot. And nobody means, well, nobody." I sigh. I was so close. So very close to being able to end the threesome's lives…and maybe Uther's too, if I'd played my cards right. I heave another sigh and turn to the Knights. "And you…all of you…NO SWORDS. No coming up with ingenious schemes to make them go away…cause they won't work. Understand? They just won't frigging work. They are really big hulks of metal that your stupid weapons are no good against, no matter who tells you differently." I see hands begin to go up from the Knights. "No, Mordred, Agravaine, Bedwyr and whoever else doesn't know better, so just…do me a favour and don't." I rub my temples; I can feel a headache coming on with a vengeance. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and realize it is Optimus wisely preventing Ratchet from doling out his medical opinion.

I hear someone approaching and look up. Oh, Agravaine. This ought to be good.

"Yes?"

He grabs my arm, as if somehow pulling me in the direction of the Knights will keep the Bots from hearing what he has to say. I don't have the heart to tell him about their far superior hearing abilities. Let the man live his little fantasy, since, hell, it could get blown to bits at any point today… He says nothing – simply drags me to the fence where the Knights have again taken up quivering. I say this because as manly as they are trying to appear, they are failing miserably and look so pathetic…I honestly do not know if I can keep from bursting into laughter. Even Tristan is looking decidedly un-Tristan-esque at the moment, going between studying the mechs with wide eyes and touching the various weapons he has hidden on his person.

"Who are they and how did they get here?" The furious whisper in my ear belongs to none other than Mordred.

"Look…they are called Transformers and they got here when my son decided that he needed to watch their movies a couple of nights in a row. At least that's what I'm assuming happened…" I shrug.

"Well make them go." It's almost funny to watch Uther biting at his nails, looking all nervous.

"I can't. At least not in any way I know of. If I could, don't you think…" I let my voice trail off and smile maliciously in Uther's direction, hoping he can complete the sentence on his own.

"Un-watch the movie." Bors.

"Ummm…how on earth do you suggest I do that? Idiot. I already watched it. A couple times."

Before I can continue, Dagonet jumps in.

"You said movies…that implies that they are in more than one…" He raises and eyebrow inquisitively.

Phruck. Phruck. Phruck. Why does he have to be so freaking smart?

"Yes…there is the original Transformers movie and then the sequel. We watched both. A few times." I add the last statement quietly, already sensing the riot that is forthcoming. I am right and not at all disappointed as yelling, shoving and general chaos erupts within the Knights' ranks. Glancing over my shoulder, I find the Autobots, well, they seem to be amused by this whole mess.

"Well…it should be obvious then what needs to happen." Oh, Lancelot – Captain Obvious himself. "She simply needs to go watch the sequel to our movie." He puffs his chest out and looks very proud of himself. Of course, the others quickly take up a chorus/chant of 'watch our sequel'…

I hold my hands up for silence. Crapola. Now I've got to address this issue too. What happened to my nice, peaceful day?

"Look…" I begin to back up towards the mechs, hoping somehow one of them will pick up on my need for some protection right about now. "Let me be absolutely, positively plain as day: you have no sequel. There is no other movie than the one from 2004. Sorry." I don't know why I apologize; it just seems like the thing to do.

They stop to consider this, when Bedwyr speaks up. "Pre-quel? I mean, since most of us aren't in the movie…" His voice dies off as I shake my head 'no'.

That has really taken the wind out of their sails. They don't so much retreat to the fence as they fall back against it. I feel bad, I really do, but I'm just being honest. Honesty is so over-rated right now, no matter what the nuns said in elementary school. Stupid nuns. Hmmm…wonder if that is why the universe…

"Wait." Agravaine again and this time he is smiling that evil, up-to-no-good, mischievous…well, you get the idea…it's just not a well-intentioned smile. "I know how to prove we rule the house." I would be offended by the assertion were I not so damn intrigued right now.

"Aliens are all about rules, right?" I shake my head and wonder just how many times I have subjected him to _Lilo and Stitch_…obviously, a few too many right about now… He, however, has stepped forward and is pointing at the Autobots. Not good since this causes Ironhide to lock his targeting system onto Agravaine.

"Yes, more or less…"

"Good. Then you have to leave because, by all rules and accounts, we hold stake here. So you may go. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. Metalhead." Mordred has, apparently, picked up on the direction his brother is headed. I snicker. Apparently there really was no harm in letting them watch all those episodes of _Law and Order_, along with the _House_ marathon the other week.

"I do not understand…" Of course, the Bots are not going to go down easily. Why would they? Everyone else seems to want explanation, why should they be any different? Where would the fun be in that if they just went 'oh, okay' and trotted their big metal hush puppies out of my yard?

Mordred looks at Agravaine. Obviously, he was bluffing and now the Bots realize it as well. I hear the click-click-whine of plasma cannons. Sadly, all I can think of is my poor lawn and patio. Although, the landscaper who is moving the shrubs for us does install paver patios…so I am sure he can repair any damage…

"Just hold on…my…brother…" Agravaine takes a moment to glare at Mordred, "is correct but yet so very stupid. And I can prove it, so just put that…whatever it is away and listen. Try to follow the logic and keep up. I realize it might be difficult, but do try." He sneers and I can just see it now: Agravaine splattered all over the patio. I wonder if outdoor, professional strength bleach will be enough to take out the stains…first my carpet, now my patio…what the frig is next?

A distinctive cough rings out. The same cough that started this whole mess. The 'cough cough' of inquiry from one clueless Roman Commander, and I don't mean Uther. "Not to…ummm…delay this any further, but what exactly do you intend to prove, Agravaine? That this is our house or that Mordred is stupid…?"

I cannot help myself. A laugh/snort rips from my throat. I know Arthur is just being Arthur but godsdamn is that man utterly hopeless. I notice Agravaine does not react except to close his eyes and slowly count to…whatever number it takes before he is able to open them again without acting on the murderous thoughts filling his mind. The others are successfully restraining Mordred and through it all, Arthur (bless his little heart) seems completely oblivious and, in fact, quite serious about his inquiry.

"That this is our house. Now shut up and listen. Perhaps you will learn something as well…though that is highly, highly doubtful. This over-sized…" here he gestures to Ironhide, who responds by bringing his other cannon to bear, "heap of useless scrap has more chance of becoming educated than you." He can't resist any longer though and turns on Uther. "Are you really certain he's yours? Really? I mean you are at least halfway intelligent…what's his excuse? His mother? Being dropped? Inbreeding – as in you should have tried it because look at how well it worked out with Mordred…? Really, Uther…" I step forward and place my hand on his arm to try to calm him and bring him back to his original topic: getting rid of robots.

Growling at Arthur, he resumes addressing the Bots. "Now…you will have to trust that she," he taps me on the shoulder, "is giving you honest answers."

The Bots look at each other and nod. "We can accept that. She seems a truthful little organic." Oh thank gods they don't know me better…

Agravaine can't resist a snicker and shakes his head. He ploughs ahead though, before they can question.

"So…the books in your office – aside from the all-knowing encyclopedia – what books have been given their own shelf?"

"You mean the ones you and your brothers were gonna stuff down you pants and smuggle out?" I can't resist. I just can't. He glares at me and nods. "Oh…those are Arthurian legend related."

He smiles and nods again. "And, tell me, the things on your computer – stories and whatnot – to what are those related?"

"King Arthur." I can hear the whir of processors and know the Bots can most likely access my home network and are doing some reconnaissance of their own.

"Cooler contents – what are they? Specifically, what beer is contained in it?"

"Ummm…wow…there's a couple different ones… Smithwicks…"

"You do love me!"

"She does not, Bedwyr. Shut it. Others…"

I'm drawing a blank on the beer assortment and move on to other foodstuffs. "Chocolate pudding cups." Agravaine glares at Galahad and dares him to open his mouth. Wisely, Galahad stays silent but beams with pride. "Ummm…there's strawberry PopTarts, but they're in the pantry…remember to share them this time, Gawain. Let's see…there's Italian ice in the freezer and you are welcome, Kay. Goose Island brew of some sort – and you are welcome, Dagonet." I snap my fingers and smile shyly, "Oh, I know, I remembered to pick up some Stone Pale Ale…" At this he visibly softens and smiles at me – we've shared many a bottle of that while conspiring.

"That does not count. We have no need of organic food substances." I swear to gods I have no idea who invited Ratchet but they need to un-invite him before I contemplate selling him to the local scrap guys. I could actually use the couple extra bucks…

"Fine. Then…" He looks at me and smiles again, that horrible, gut-wrenching smile… "Who has suffered through those infernal children's programs and movies and," he cuts me off before I can answer, "those even more ridiculous sob inducing movies, all of which you insist on watching? And, before you answer that, who, might I ask, has playlists on your iPod?" He grins smugly.

"All of you." I feel my face redden.

"Not robots?"

"Uh…no…"

"I see…" He is really smirking now. Oh please no…please don't… "Finally – and this one you worthless pieces of junk can relate to and verify with your own, I am assuming those are eyes – whose name is on your truck?" He crosses his arms and looks from me to the Bots.

Phruck and phrick and nutty fudgie brownie makers all combined. I know the torrent has come out of my mouth and I really don't care. I can't believe he stooped this low. He means the license plates. Oh gods this is embarrassing. Do I really have to answer?

"We are waiting."

Of course you are, Optimus. I want to tell him to check for himself, but I have a horrible vision of my new truck being ripped from the garage and…gods only know what would happen then…

"They say…oh what the phrucking hell, they say 'Agravaine'. Ok? Everyone happy? Is the world a better place for everyone knowing what my plates say?"

Silence. Plasma cannons have stopped making that click-whine sound. The Knights have become emboldened and move forward, standing just behind me. I feel a poke in my back and a whisper in my ear.

"You know 'Mordred' would have looked so much cooler…"

I bite my tongue both to keep from laughing and to resist the urge to smack him. Apparently, now that the hard work has been taken care of, his royal eminence Uther Pendragon can take charge.

"Well, gentlemen…I do believe that proves for once and all that this is our house and you," he gestures to all of them, "need to remove yourselves from this property and not return unless specifically called upon."

Brilliant, Uther. Just brilliant. Farging politician to the last.

Surprisingly, the Autobots simply nod and leave, crushing my newly planted vegetables on their way out….but they do manage to miss the neighbour's dogs, so I guess it kind of evens things out. I mean, explaining crushed plants is one thing…a crushed dog, a bit more, ummm, tricky.

Have you ever had the feeling of being stared at by a million pairs of eyes? Yes, me too. Well, ok, that is an exaggeration, but sadly, the ones that are staring happen to be attached to Knights standing in my backyard.

"What? Just…what?"

I hear the snickers and know I am really in for it now. There will be no more bartering time away. No more half-assed explanations. I wonder if it's too late to get the Autobots back…?

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for bearing with. If you didn't enjoy this chapter, stick around. I am sure the boys will be back to their regular schedule of torture, I mean forced explanations in no time...


	7. Thanksgiving

**Disclaimer:** Same drill, different chapter. Still the same. No money being made on writing or random product endorsements.

**A/N:** So…took them a little time, but they found something. I've no idea where they are headed so I'll give the usual warning: Please, don't try to pass anything you read herein as an accurate anything for any reason – I won't be held responsible. Again, expletives have been modified much to the chagrin of the participants but I am really trying to keep this in the 'T' category. Huge shout-out of thanks to my beta, _Lycanus1_.

* * *

"What're you doing?"

The voice behind me nearly caused me to drop the frozen turkey. Which would've really sucked…twenty-four pounds of frozen solid bird landing on my small foot would've, well, let's just say x-rays and a cast probably would have been in my near future. Thank gods I wrapped the carry loop over my wrist.

"Pulling out the turkey so it can defrost and be cooked."

"Why?"

Why does Arthur persist in asking me questions? Further, why do I keep bloody answering him? Taking a deep breath, I pause before heaving the frozen bird at him. Secretly I hope he'll miss and it will knock him out cold…I could then leave him in the basement (take the turkey, leave the Roman) and have a quiet day. To my dismay, this does not occur as planned and instead he handily catches the iced bird.

"Goddamn that's cold!" Hastily, Arthur deposits the bird on the basement floor and begins rubbing his hands and arms vigorously.

I make a 'tsk, tsk' sound. "Isn't it a sin to take the name of the Lord in vain?" I raise an eyebrow and he blushes and mumbles. "I think perhaps you need to go confess your little indiscretion to Bishop Whatshisolddogface and do penance." I try to wave him off but, this being Arthur, he doesn't quite get it. Or he does and simply chooses to ignore me – I'm honestly never quite sure when it comes to any of them.

"Germanus."

"Bless you."

"Huh?"

"You sneezed. I said bless you. Now come along and bring the bird…we've got work to do there, Artie-man." I snicker as I walk up the stairs because I know he is standing halfway between the stairs and the turkey, confused as all hell and wondering what just happened. I love it when I can make him act as my lackey. I really do.

I don't bother waiting on him and instead make my way into the kitchen where there is a discussion taking place. A rather heated one, it would seem. I would turn around and walk back down the stairs, but my slave…I mean, Artie-man, has emerged cradling his frozen parcel – the turkey, people, the turkey – and I am now trapped. Nutty-fudge-pickers.

"Well I don't frigging know what it's for…looked like bread…" Bors is rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah…frozen freaking fracking bread, you dumb arse." Mordred picks up a still tied shut bag and whacks Bors in the shoulder with it, causing the barrel-chested one to yelp and rub at his shoulder. "Oh, that didn't hurt you baby…"

"Correction – baby maker and, I might add, best one o' the bunch…" Bors retorts sharply and, admittedly, accurately.

Oh good, they're resorted to beating each other with frozen bread and sticking their tongues out at each other. Good. A lovely start to the holiday. They ought to blend right in with the rest of my family, sadly enough.

"Alright. Stop. Enough. What's the problem?" Dear gods, please, please please if anyone in the universe is listening, please let this be simple and get them the hell out of my kitchen.

"Frozen bread…why?" Sarcasm lessons were definitely not lost on Mordred.

"For stuffing." I reply with equally dripping sarcasm.

"For…?" At least Dag, the voice of reason has decided to chime in.

"That." I point over my shoulder.

The resultant gasps, snorts, chuckles, chortles, nudges and outright laughter calm down as Dag raises his hands to shush everyone.

"Ummm…why are you stuffing Arthur?"

"And shouldn't you wait until he's dead to try that?" Gaheris. Troublemaker number one. Or is it two? I forget…actually, more accurately, I don't care to remember most days.

"More challenging this way." Tristan is dead serious and I remind myself to take a headcount of the cat population when I have the opportunity.

I take a deep breath. This is going poorly already and somehow, someway, I don't sense it's going to get much better anytime soon. "I am not stuffing Arthur. Ever." I add that clarification when I see Tristan's eyebrow rise. "It's for the turkey."

"Now why would you be stuffing Lancelot?" Bedwyr just has to say something because it wouldn't be Beds if he kept his mouth shut. Instigator. He's almost as bad as Arthur's daddy, who, I might add, is conspicuously missing.

The room erupts into laughter and hoots and various Knights kindly offer their advice on how to best go about the process of stuffing the second-in-command. I have to admit, they do have very vivid and very active imaginations…which would be frightening if they weren't so damn amusing.

"Ummm…what do you want me to do with this? It's really kind of cold…"

"Sink. Put it in the sink, Arthur." He happily obliges and, once the bird is in the sink, he begins rubbing his arms and hands. Seemingly out of thin air, the blue one appears and begins assisting him. Oh yeah…this day has definitely now taken the official turn for the worse.

"So…" Oh, here it comes. "What's with the frozen fowl that you're planning to stuff with frozen bread…for why again…?" Gareth this time once again confirming why the talk is that all the brains went to the second born – which means Gaheris is troublemaker number two. I knew I'd figure it out sooner or later…what was it I just figured out again?

"It's a turkey and it's thawing so it can be stuffed and baked. The bread will not be frozen when I make it into stuffing. It will, in fact be mixed with lots of other stuff and will be quite delicious once done." I cross my arms and lean back against the counter, giving them my best 'go-ahead-and-ask-but-I-don't-have-to-answer' glare.

"This is another of your strange customs, isn't it?"

"Yes. It's called Thanksgiving and all you really need to know is that there will be lots of food and lots of booze…mainly the booze is for me since it also involves lots of crazy relatives visiting…"

This elicits nods of sympathy. They know; they've met my family and know much alcohol is normally necessary for me to make it through. One glass of wine for the bird, two for me.

"Thanksgiving."

"Yup. Thanksgiving." I raise a suspicious eyebrow at Mordred, who seems to be giving this entirely too much thought.

"Kill a bird. Freeze the bird. Thaw the bird. Stuff the bird. Cook the bird. Eat the bird."

"Yes. More or less."

Nods and shrugs abound and it seems I might have dodged a lightning strike. Of course, I wouldn't be thinking nearly so positive had I noticed who slipped in during that brief explanation.

"More or less…interesting…" Uther. Have I mentioned yet in this chapter how much I loathe, despise and downright hate him? I do. "But surely this holiday is more than about eating, drinking and being merry…"

"What more do you need? Well, besides a few good wenches to give thanks for our gods given talents and gifts, that is…" Laughter erupts at Gawain's assertion and various Knights nod and voice agreement.

"Well…now…wouldn't you like to know the basis of the holiday?" That sickly sweet smile that I just so want to smack off his face so hard his nose lands in the neighbour's backyard – the neighbours about two blocks over that is.

"Food, drink and crazy relatives visiting…you and yours ought to fit right in, eh, Uther?" I could strangle Bedwyr. No, really, I could…he's only about an arm's length away.

"Stop. Now." I look pointedly at Mordred, who seems to be the only Pendragon aside from Uther who has caught on to the slight. Arthur is much too involved in having Guinevere return warmth to his arms and, apparently other parts, to be paying attention. "The holiday is about more than those things. It's about giving thanks for what we have. Hence, the holiday's name: Thanksgiving."

"Well that's kind of stupid, isn't it? I mean, you screwed the order of the words all up. Shouldn't it be called Givingthanks, instead? Makes you sound like you're related to the short tree, and by that, of course, I mean Lancelot…" Agravaine, never one to squander the opportunity to have a go at his pal, Lance. Who, I now note, has also slipped into the room and, oh dear gods, what are he and the blue meanie doing…have they actually made an Arthur sandwich? I'm not certain but I think every head in the room cocks to the side along with mine and tries to figure out what the threesome is doing before we collectively shudder and avert our eyes.

"Be thankful if someone'd gouge my eyes outta my head right 'bout now…" Bors mutters and Dagonet lays a hand on Tristan's arm, stopping him from fulfilling Bors' request. Looking crestfallen, Tristan re-sheathes the half-drawn knife in his sleeve. Guess I know who will be carving the turkey this year…most likely with that dao of his, if given the opportunity.

Wow. I might have to explain this holiday just to get rid of that nasty, awful image that was forced into my brain. Images of an idyllic first Thanksgiving from childhood storybooks fill my head and I begin to smile, noting that this seems disconcerting to Uther. Oh yeah – I think it's time to explain a holiday and stick a dagger in that miserable, wretched, twisted old man's chest.

"Okay. Anyone not being fondled, groped or otherwise warmed up, follow me to the office and we'll have a little holiday information session." I start to walk away and motion everyone behind me to follow.

"Fondling and groping was an option?" Gawain sounds disappointed while Galahad simply laughs and pats his shoulder, pushing him forward with the group hastening out of the kitchen.

Where to start, where to start…? Ah…my son's book on the first Thanksgiving. It's pre-school level and so should be totally appropriate for this group; has lots of pictures, which I find is always a good thing.

"Right…so…Thanksgiving…" I pick up the book and thumb through the thick, cardboard pages, holding them up for everyone to view. "Well, there were these people – Pilgrims – who settled here first and they befriended the Native Americans. The Pilgrims were thankful to have survived their first year here, in a new land, so they threw a big…dinner party…" I try not to get pissed off as I recall my attempt at a dinner party that this group crashed. "And so that's Thanksgiving in a nutshell." Please don't ask any questions, I add silently.

"But why…? Why were they here, in this new land? Where did they come from? How did they get here?" Uther, from the doorway. Jackass. Need I mention again just how much I hate him? Really, I need to talk to Hades about some sort of mutually acceptable arrangement in which he takes Uther and I…well…I don't know right about now, but I'm pretty willing to bargain with the Lord of the Underworld.

Sighing, I realize I've just been thrown under the bus and am now, judging by the looks from the assembly, going to have to give up the pre-school version and go for the full-blown explanation.

"Alright. Fine. Since Uther apparently has some burning need…"

"Yeah…I recall him complaining about a burning sensation and I told him maybe Dag or Kay had an ointment for that…" Mordred snorts and high-fives his cronies as Uther's eyes narrow and the rest of the group chuckles uncomfortably.

"Done?" I wait for Mordred to nod. "Sure now? Cause I'd really just freaking fracking prefer to get this blessed explanation out of the way…"

"Oh, cause you'd prefer to…what? Go watch the threesome in the kitchen?" Bedwyr raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Maybe she is gonna try stuffing Lancelot…" Gareth shrugs.

"Not without me, she isn't…" Agravaine narrows his eyes and studies me hard.

"OK…let me clarify. NOBODY is getting stuffed. N-O-B-O-D-Y." Yes, I do actually spell the word out for them at this point, I am so ticked. "Not Lancelot. Not Arthur. Not even the blue princess in there." With that line I am so furious I am making wild hand gestures and shaking my finger at the troupe. "Only the damn fricking stupid sassafrassing turkey is getting stuffed with anything in any way, shape or form. Got it?" I give Agravaine my best 'I-mean-business-don't-frick- with-me' look and he smiles and winks. Godsblessedfrickingdamn him – he was teasing me the whole time. I swear I'll get him. And his little minions too since they are similarly grinning and amused.

"But…" Oh great, here we go…Galahad has now decided to participate – and he looks perplexed. Never a good thing. "But…wasn't the turkey somebody?" Gods I hate it when he tries to apply logic to these things and then looks at me with those stricken puppy eyes.

"Yes. And now it is a dead, frozen about to be thawed, cooked and eaten somebody." Nice, Mordred – now Gal's really on the brink of tears. Couldn't you have just walked over and punched the boy in the face instead? Oh, wait…Dred's taken a couple steps forward so maybe he will yet.

Mouse pokes Dred hard and whispers loudly, "You forgot stuffed…" I resist the urge to throw something heavy at the runt.

"So…it might have had a name? Been someone's pet?"

Oh for the love of…mental note that Galahad is no longer, under any circumstances, allowed to watch the National Geographic channel, Animal Planet channel or anything to do with any sort of animals at all.

"His name was Gallyhad, he was a terrible pet and now he's D-E-A-D." Ah, Mordred, Mr. Sensitivity. Thank the gods he never did reproduce (that I know of) because, you know, I can just imagine his explanation of, well, anything to be honest…those kids would be scarred beyond the help of any therapist.

"And about to be…" Thankfully, Dagonet puts his hand over Gaheris' mouth for me and shakes his head. I think the giant suspects I am about to lose all semblance of control and, truthfully, Dag is such a nice man that he really doesn't want to see that happen.

"But…but…" Galahad turns to Gawain, who simply shrugs but has the good sense to pull the Pupster into a hug. At least someone attended some sort of empathy training.

Uther, apparently totally appalled by the way his attempt at skewering me has been usurped and turned into an animal rights debate, shakes his head and walks off. I'm pretty sure he's mumbling not-very-nice words in Latin, but since I don't speak it, I don't really care. He's leaving me alone (for now) and I'll take what I can get.

I take a quick headcount; the threesome are, apparently, still in the kitchen and it looks as though Tris has decided to go sharpen his dao in preparation for turkey slicing. It is Saturday as I pen this and the holiday isn't until Thursday, mind you…

"So…anyone got anything else they want to toss out there about the holiday or can we just call this topic wrapped and tied and done?" I am hopeful. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. One day they might surprise me…

"Ummm…so…I hate to ask…" Well then don't, I want to snap at Kay, but again, nice man overall so I have trouble being mean. "But, uh…" He glances toward Gawain who pulls Galahad tighter to him.

"What he's asking is if the bird, I mean the dearly departed but likely very tasty Gallyhad, is already gutted or do you get to do that?"

Holy Jeebus there, Agravaine, could you have been a little more tact-less? I'm gonna have to put him in the same classification as Mordred – thankful he hasn't reproduced (to my knowledge) cause those poor, poor kids… Which is surprising cause I always thought…he was so good with my son…oh well.

Galahad pushes away from Gawain looking positively…well, I think I'll have to choose revolted as the descriptor on this one. Apparently the thought of me gutting the bird isn't a job he'd imagined me doing… Poor Pupster…good thing he wasn't around when I took my anatomy and physiology class…

"No. I mean, I will clean out the inside just to make sure there's, uh, nothing left-over, but, no…it's, uh, I guess you'd say it's pre-gutted…"

"Party poopers." Everyone jumps as Tristan throws in his assessment from the hall.

"Ok…so…now that this conversation has become completely disturbing on many different levels, is there anything else or can we be done now…?" I look around, amazed that no hands have popped up, no one looks inclined to start another topic…hell, this could be the easiest explanation I've done thus far. Kinda cool. "Well alright then…just to clarify, the bird is NOT named Gallyhad and it is thoroughly dead and gutted." I ignore the annoyed sigh from the hall. "I am NOT stuffing anything or anyone except the bird. Thanksgiving dinner is Thursday at 6, there will be lots of alcohol and, well, I guess you all can just get the frickety frack out of my house 'til then. Ok. Bye-bye and enjoy yourselves."

Nodding and grinning, I back out of the room and head toward the kitchen, yelling ahead of me for the occupants to vacate or I am so gonna tell her dad and the Church about them. Happily, upon reaching the kitchen, I note that my warning has been heeded and I actually have the room to myself…and I have no clue what to do now.

* * *

**A/N:** Happy Thanksgiving this Thursday to my US pals! Try not to think of your turkey being named Gallyhad. Though I do hope it is tasty nonetheless and you find many, many things to be thankful for.


	8. Christmas

**Disclaimer:** Yes, yes it is.

**A/N:** Ok…holiday edition – less explanation, more general mischief. Also I borrowed from the poem _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_ – all directly borrowed lines are in _italics_. The XX's mark a break – transition from one day to another cause, well, honestly I'm lacking the creativity to write transitions (also just plain lazy and tired).

* * *

"What's this 'bout a holly-day comin'? Somethin' bout some lard-arse in a red suit that's gonna be breakin' in…?"

Oh, no. Not this again. I thought I covered this last Christmas for pity's sake…

"Bors…we went through this last year. The red-suited guy is Santa Claus and he is not breaking in. He is stopping over to leave presents."

"Yeah…as if you have any room to be calling him a lard-arse anyway there, pudge." Bedwyr snorts and pokes at Bors' stomach genially.

"What? You're just jealous cause my Van likes me…uh…plump an' feeds me well…" Bors rubs his stomach and smirks at the older Knight.

"At least that's what she tells you…"

"OK." I decide it's a good time to step in before there's a brawl in my office. "So now you know it's only Santa. He'll be arriving shortly and, yes, I will post the holiday rules again this year."

Yes, I actually had to make a list of things that were not acceptable during the Christmas holidays. Things such as: No feeding the cats cookies and/or milk – unless you intend to clean up after them – and an addendum to the rule for Tris that cleaning up after them involves towels and carpet cleaner, not rubber gloves to…well…you get the idea… Strings/nets of lights are not thoughtfully provided by the neighbours as convenient bindings for the latest hunting trophy. Gift wrap and bows are not meant for decorating each other…or me…or any member of my family. And, my personal favourite: No using the lighted deer throughout the neighbourhood for target practice – no matter how realistic they look or if they moved. Tacked onto that was that Santa's reindeer were also not to be hunted – under any circumstances, no excuses (again, an addendum aimed mainly at the Scout). There were more, and I feel quite certain I'll be adding to the list this year yet again, thanks to their creativity…

"What's goin' on in here?" Gawain pops his head in while popping at least two of my freshly baked sugar cookies into his mouth.

"Santa talk. You know…same stuff, different year…" Bedwyr shrugs nonchalantly and smiles much too innocently for my liking.

Gawain nods vigorously as he takes a swig from his tankard, while wiping the crumbs out of his beard. Ugh…cookies and ale, a combination I will never understand. Mouse slips into the midst of the trio and raises an enquiring eyebrow.

"Santa."

"Oh." Mouse pauses to scratch his white-blonde mop that passes for hair. "Again? Already? Wasn't he just here like…" He shrugs because no matter how many times or who tries to translate their concept of time, it never makes sense to me.

I sigh. "That was the Easter Bunny and, please, I think the neighbourhood rabbits are hibernating and sleeping that off, so…" I close my eyes and hold back the snort of laughter as I recall the big, but thankfully poorly coordinated, Easter Bunny hunt. When I open them, I realize that (a) my office is emptier than it's been in a number of years and, (b) there are hushed voices coming from my kitchen.

Stealthily (and I am shocked when this actually works), I make my way into the kitchen and, before they realize it, am standing among them at the island staring down at a map of the neighbourhood drawn in flour (holiday baking, please pardon the mess). My house is, apparently, designated by the tower of cookies and is being alternately referred to as 'Command Central' and the 'Epicenter'. The neighbours' homes are, if I am interpreting the map correctly, designated according to what sort of Christmas display is being exhibited. Santa displays are designated by little candy Santa's; manger scenes are, for some reason only this group fathoms, gumdrops; and, oh, the sites with reindeer have piles of mini chocolate chips…nice.

"So…everyone is clear, right?" Mordred looks around the kitchen as murmurs of 'yep' and 'aye' spread through the group. When his eyes fall on me, they narrow. "Ummm…not to nitpick or any such thing, but who the friggedty frack's fricking job was it to make sure she didn't make it in here?" Dred leans over and points at me, his fingertip so close, I could lick it if I was so inclined. Mind you, I said 'so inclined'…let's not take up space here discussing why that is just a bad, horrible, not recommended idea.

"Well now that doesn't matter, does it? I'm here and, I have to tell you, this is one lovely little diagram of the neighbourhood…" Crap, I have to think fast of a deterrent or Christmas Eve is gonna be ruined, not to mention what it'll do to Christmas Day. "But, uh, I think you might have, you know,misjudged distances and," I squint at the counter, trying to think of something, anything, that will provide assistance, "have you taken into account any anti-theft or, you know, other security measures…?" I know – piss-poor reasons, but I told you, I'm desperate. "I mean, you know, after last year and whatnot…am sure some of the neighbours have taken, you know, precautions…"

The laughter is, well, chilling, to be honest. This means they have taken precautions and done careful reconnaissance of the area… Damn Tristan. And Mouse too. Why do I get stuck with two scouts under one roof? It's just not fair, I tell you…not fair at all…

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

'_Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring not even a mouse._ Yours, maybe…mine, not so much; Mouse just slipped in to see if I was sleeping…and left quickly to, I am guessing, alert the others that I'm not…and that I am not amused either.

_The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there._ Right. Oh, there are stockings alright, but each one I am fairly certain has been equipped with an elaborate booby trap. And they are hoping Santa will soon show his lard-arse, as Bors keeps calling it…cause that concoction I slipped earlier into both the ale and the eggnog is beginning to take effect. Thanks, Kay and Dag.

_The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. _Damn skippy the kid is asleep and if they know what's good for them, they'll make damn sure their "covert operations" don't wake him.

_And Mama in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap._ Uh…I got nothing and it seems a bit too…intimate…so let's just skip this and say that everybody's in their jammies and move along. Well, except the Knights. They're dressed for battle. Go figure. Who knew Santa and his reindeer could be anyone's mortal enemies?

_When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash._ Ok…so really it's the front door and I am fumbling with the keys for the lock even as I dread what I'm going to find. Oh, imagine that, it's the Scout sprinkling more reindeer food on the snow, grinning like a madman and brandishing that horsebow of his…the clatter, well, I'm fairly certain Bedwyr is on my roof laying some sort of trap, but I really don't want to look. If I don't look, it isn't real – isn't that how it works?

_The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave a luster of mid-day to objects below, when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment, it must be St. Nick._ What on all the earth…? Is that Gaheris and Gareth pulling some stupid plastic sled and reindeer…? Oh my gods, they actually stole it from the rooftop of the neighbour's a couple blocks over. The display was really annoying with the oddly flashing lights and whatnot, but still… What the frick is on their heads? My son is going to weep when he finds out what his mini-flashlights have been used for this evening…hell, I'm ready to weep right now.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALT!"

They all freeze where they are. Shockingly.

"You two," I point at the Twins, "take that back to the neighbour's, put it back on their roof THE WAY YOU FOUND IT and come back here." I know I better specify clearly that it is to be put back the way they found it or it will go back their way – heaved up and teetering half-on/half-off the roof. "Take Dag and Kay withyou and just GET IT DONE." I mouth an apology to Kay and Dag as they glare at me briefly before stomping across the lawn to assist with returning the pilfered decoration.

I glance up at the cackle from on-high – unfortunately, it's no angel; Beds is on the roof with his bow in hand and what appears to be a very large stockpile of plastic candy canes. No, I have no idea what for – I just assume it's for no good because with this group, to do otherwise would be naïve. Pointing at him, I wait until I've gotten his attention before pointing at the ground, indicating he should come down. I turn my back in time to grab the Scout's bow and keep him from shooting the old man off the roof, much to the Scout's dismay, I might add. Pouting, the Scout returns to spreading more reindeer food across my lawn, while alternately watching the skies and me.

Gaheris, Gareth, Dag and Kay return and I am now wondering where the others are… If they aren't outside… Oh heaven help me… Dashing back in, I narrowly avoid colliding with Galahad, who nicely grabs me before I break the tripwire zig-zagging my entryway.

I so do not want to know…I really don't. At least I know Uther and Arthur are occupied somewhere since I saw Uther dragging Arthur off by the ear muttering something about "midnight mass" or something…the remaining two of the unholy trinity, I have no idea but they've not been spotted on the premises. I'm not going to inquire any further, because, well, I'm just fine with no details where they and their activities are concerned. Besides, I have larger worries as Mordred and Agravaine have, apparently, booby-trapped the entire front entrance and moved on to the back.

Galahad points directly behind him and I understand that I should follow his footsteps exactly; though I'm uncertain how safe that is, considering the low threshold both Dred and Grav have for the boy's antics. Gawain is surveying the tree with a tankard in hand, noting his handiwork as it seems he has somehow rigged some contraption to the tree skirt and lower branches that will…oh dear lord…I can only shake my head as my gaze drifts to the crossbow in the corner. My stare is broken when I hear commotion from the front.

Going back around the corner, I see why… Apparently, whatever I slipped into their ale earlier has muddled their brains and the plan is no longer clear (an unexpected but welcome side effect). Bedwyr is lying on the floor, curses that would make Bors blush escaping between yawns as he tries to untangle his feet from the string wrapped around his boots. Thankfully, he did manage to avoid being impaled by the two crossbow bolts by falling forward…though I think he might have broken other things, including a few floor tiles. Luckily, everyone behind him ducked as well – Knight shish**-**kebabis not on the Christmas menu. Although I guess avoidance was made slightly easier by the fact that Dag is now half-carrying/half-dragging both Gaheris and Gareth who seem to have over-indulged in the ale and/or spiked eggnog earlier in the evening. A definite bonus as this indicates the drug is working faster than expected. Translated, that means I might still get a few hours of sleep yet tonight.

Returning to the living room, I am happy to see that Gawain has now settled on the couch with Galahad next to him and they are both dozing. Excellent. Four down. Multiple more to go, but I figure they have to be getting loopy as well by now.

Dag passes me now dragging the soundly sleeping Twins and nods upstairs; I nod back knowing he means to toss them into the spare room – quite literally on the toss part, I'm sure. Kay follows with Beds leaning heavily on his shoulder, cackling about some dirty joke or another, judging by the blush creeping up Kay's face.

Making my way into the kitchen, I studiously avoid the back door, knowing that Mordred and Agravaine will be the last to succumb to the beverage additive and likely still hard at work on an elaborate trap of some sort. I hear Grav's voice asking something – the only words I catch are "axe, rope and hook" – and I decide ignorance is the best policy right now; hopefully they drop soon from the sedative before someone ends up losing a limb…or their head.

Bors is leaned back against the fridge, snoring and drooling slightly as his tankard spills eggnog onto the floor. I grab a towel and resist the urge to smack him upside that thick bald skull – it would, after all, defeat the purpose of the sleeping potion. I patiently wait until I hear Dag's heavy footsteps entering the kitchen. I wave at him as he stops to take in the laughing duo by the back door and shakes his head.

"Twins out cold. Beds soon to join them. Kay is working on getting the Mighty Maned One and the Skirt upstairs… So that would leave…" Dag pauses and glances over his shoulder. "Those two, Tris and Mouse…wherever that little bugger has gotten to…"

"Tris is outside still waiting on reindeer. Mouse is…" I look around, honestly having figured he wouldn't have strayed far, usually being Agravaine's favourite minion, but it appears he has vanished completely.

Kay joins us shortly, slightly out of breath. "Someone talk to Gawain about a diet…please…or at least about eating a few less cookies…" His eyes stray down to the sleeping lug at our feet. "Though, I have to say, since you are related to this one…have fun…" Smirking, he pats Dag on the shoulder as the bigger Knight bends to shoulder his cousin. Taking a few steps, Kay leans on the island, watching closely as Agravaine pauses to stretch his back and Mordred attempts to hide a yawn in his elbow.

"Godsdamnit!" The exclamation catches both Kay and I off-guard. "Where the frick is Mouse when I need him?" Agravaine's irritation is tempered with exhaustion, a good sign that soon he'll join the others in sleepy-time-land. Mordred simply shrugs and tries to focus on the string he's knotting – with little success.

Curiously, I look at Kay who simply shrugs. "Does anyone have any idea where Mouse is?" As I see it now, he's the single wild-card. We know Tris is outside – that's just a matter of remembering to drag his sleeping arse inside so he doesn't freeze; but Mouse…

"Asleep upstairs under a pile of blankets. Made sure to uncover him so you can, you know…" Kay laughs quietly since he knows what mischief I have planned to indulge a wee bit later.

Dag appears in the doorway, looking flushed and shivering. We learn later that, upon passing the front door, Dag noted the Scout was lying on his stomach in the snow…which wouldn't have been unusual, except that his hand was clutching snow and not his bow. So Dag dutifullydragged him upstairs. All that remained were the two by the back door who were now struggling to finish their task. I have to admit, they did a bang-up job; it appears, from what I can discern, that should Santa choose the back door, he will be greeted by a battle axe to the skull/torso. But, cleverly, they havetimedit so that the door will have to be fully opened and, according to Kay's explanation, the axe is strung so that it will not only cleave him in two neat halves, it will do so while knocking him out onto the patio – minimizing bloodshed in the house. Very sweet that they thought through their demented little plan to make clean-up as easy as possible for me; well, them, really, since there was no way I was going to be cleaning Santa guts up from, well, anywhere, to be quite honest.

Throughout Kay's explanation, we've watched work slow to a crawl and now it has ceased entirely. Both are collapsed into chairs, swearing at and verbally prodding the other to get their lazy, worthless arse up and finish…

"Well, should we…?" Dag sighs resignedly and looks despondently at Kay.

"Might as well. Probably be better now than to wait until they're fully asleep…"

Nodding, they cautiously approach the brothers, who have actually risen and are stumbling their way out. Apparently the trap two-thirds done is well-done enough for them tonight, from the mumbled conversation taking place. Dag and Kay trail behind, only to ensure the two don't tumble back down the stairs before returning to assist me with dismantling the various contraptions and cleaning up all traces of attempted Santa-cide.

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

Ah…Christmas morning has come and is now retreating. Been awake for hours courtesy of my son, who had to creep in to let me know Santa made it and he must've been a really, really good boy judging by the presents and filled stocking.

After present opening is complete, I make my way upstairs and peek in to the spare room, which has been surprisingly quiet, all things considered. The Knights are in various stages of wakefulness so I pause in the doorway to soak up the moment.

Poor Tristan seems to have taken the "intrusion" the hardest – he looks genuinely mortified by the Santa hat on his head and stuffed reindeer in his lap. Not to mention the candy canes decorating his quiver of arrows. The others, well, their expressions seem to be alternating between upset and terrified as they look around at each other, noticing the various candy canes, stuffed reindeer and other presents strewn about the room. Then the accusations start – who was supposed to booby-trap what and why there were no deceased reindeer on the lawn because it would've been hard for that red-suited lard-arse to get away without his special pets…

Clearing my throat, I smile gently at the room full of ticked-off, embarrassed and somewhat frightened men. "Well…Merry Christmas to you all…I trust it was a good, restful night." I resist giggling at the angry glares they give me, but cannot resist a smirk and wink. Well, all except Dag and Kay that is, since they've known all along the true 'master plan' – and chose their side wisely, I might add. "Tried to tell you that for a lard-arse, that old man in red is a slippery, tricky devil…but, of course, you all know better. So…Merry Christmas. Dinner is at six. Hope to see you all there…presents optional, of course." Laughing I close the door and bid a hasty retreat, crossing my fingers as a new round of bickering kicks off. If they ever figure out what I did…oh heaven help me…

* * *

**A/N:** It's late but nonetheless I hope you had a very happy holiday, whatever you celebrated.


	9. Welsh Dragons and Other Things

**Disclaimer:** Once again, I own nothing and no one except me – and my stuff. No monetary compensation of any kind is being made to me by anyone for anything related to this.

**A/N:** I promised my Welsh dragon friend I'd try to tackle a chapter on Wales, and here it is. I do hope it's enjoyable and lives up to expectations. I apologize to the Welsh populous because, well, I am sure I am going to mangle something within this. And now that I think about it, I should most likely apologize to the Brits again this chapter…and possibly the French – you'll understand later. And do remember to insert your own expletive of choice at the appropriate spot.

* * *

It's a lovely morning – for January. The sun is out, shockingly, and it seems the snow prediction was wrong. I creep downstairs after my shower to the kitchen – it's been unusually quiet today which sets me on edge. Surprisingly, the crew seems to be content milling around the kitchen. I get some coffee, some cookies and retreat to my office. Nobody follows. This is kind of creepy and makes me wonder what they're plotting and how long I'll have to wait until they spring whatever it is on me. As it turns out, it won't be long at all.

"So…" Bedwyr. Lovely – it's not lunch yet and the man already has a Smithwick's in his hand. Nice. Although, I guess when you're non-corporeal, the rule or whatever about drinking before Noon doesn't really apply.

"Yes…" I swear if he wants to know if I love him… Don't ask. Really. Just don't.

"What's with the dragon flag thingee?" He motions over my shoulder at the banner.

"It's the flag of Wales."

"Whales?"

"Yes…Wales." Oh no, I am not getting stuck in this stupid debate. "Wales as in the country. W-A-L-E-S. Wales." Oh good, I'm back in third grade again and competing in the spelling bee. I won that particular match pretty handily…wonder if I could be so lucky this time. Given that it's Beds, I have strong doubts.

"Ah. Was wondering why those great big swimming things needed a flag…"

I smile sweetly. "Anything else there, Beds?" I resist the urge to tell him he should go visit it since I have been reminded that he does have Celtic origins; my Welsh friend will kill me if he shows up on her doorstep.

"What're you two talking about?"

Oh great…here comes the cavalry charge.

"I was just asking about the flag thingee. Did you know it belongs to a country called Wales? And, well, I don't know what else…" Bedwyr's voice trails off.

Before anyone can say anything, I open up Wikipedia. Cause, honestly, it's been even longer since I've had a class in British history than my Irish history one. And I don't ever recall Wales being a major topic area.

"Wales. A country in the United Kingdom, located on a peninsula in central-west Great Britain. Two official languages – Welsh and English. Roughly three million people. And, yes, Arthur, before you even ask, the Romans did occupy it. Anything else?" I spin around and wish I hadn't. Hands shoot up everywhere. "What now?"

The questions come all at once and then stop instantly. They look at me expectantly, as if I am supposed to have heard and understood them all and now answer.

"Seriously…what the phruck was that? You know I didn't understand one question out of that entire…whatever that was…" As they get all wound up again, I hold my hand up. "Whoa. Let's do this in a…civilized manner and, tell you what, you appoint one spokesman for the group and figure out your question and I'll be right back after I go get…something…from somewhere…" I inch toward the door as they huddle together, trying to sort themselves out. Unfortunately, the twins have figured out my plan (probably because I stole it from their playbook) and have stepped in back of me, cutting off the exit route. Looking amused, they point at my desk chair and smile. Phruck. Double phruck considering the circumstances.

Blessed relief – they chose Dagonet as their spokesman and not, oh, say, Arthur – who actually looks rather wounded as Dag takes a step forward with the question. Oh well. Not my problem. Let them deal with the hurt feelings of their commander. No, seriously, Artie looks like he's about to burst into tears and all I know is I am not going to be his crying shoulder; as far as I know, that's what his two usual companions are for.

"What is the United Kingdom?"

"Great Britain, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. Thanks for making that one easy. Good day." I even manage a thumbs-up salute. That really was easy and now I've got the rest of my day to myself. How excellent is that?

"Ok. But what _is_ it?"

"What do you mean, what is it? It's a…uh…hang on a sec." I turn to Wikipedia and quickly search "United Kingdom"; I need a better explanation than the obvious: a country comprised of four separate countries. Duh. What I need is an explanation that will solve this in ten words or less and let me go about my day. Please, if there is a god anywhere, let there be something simple…barring that, something at least concise…and I heave a sigh. "It is, and I quote, 'a constitutional monarchy and unitary state consisting of four countries: England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales.'" I look around. Oh good, Uther is present. "And since I couldn't explain that if I tried, why don't you ask Mr. Monarch himself and I'll just…you know…do any clean-up work after he's done doing his political savvy schtick stuff…" I gesture toward Uther. "Take it away, Mr. Political Savvy Monarch Man."

Dagonet raises an eyebrow at me and the group turns toward Uther. I think I've caught my opening and slowly, nonchalantly begin making my way to the door.

"Stay with us, dearest. You can learn all about it just like the rest of the group. Education is a wondrous thing." To emphasize his point, Uther gives me a one-armed hug while steering me back toward my chair. It's a new chapter so have I mentioned how much I hate, despise and loathe this man? Good. Feel better now that I've gotten that out in the open. I resist elbowing him since I'm pretty sure the whole non-corporeal thing would come into play and, well, it would be a waste of effort.

"A constitutional monarchy, unlike when I ruled, is where the monarch only has power and authority as granted by a constitution or a document…really rather ineffective for ruling, and just about anything else important, if you ask me. They are, for the most part, really only figureheads. A unitary state is one in which there is a central government that runs everything and the…provinces or states only have the authority as granted by that central government. Make sense?" He smiles broadly and I want to punch him. He did it. Holy schnikes I cannot believe he explained it clearly and logically. I am astonished and a bit thankful…but I still want to punch him.

"So..uh…there's no real monarchs there?"

"No, Bors, no real monarchs. Just figureheads." Uther holds his hand up to stop the follow-on. "However, there are still royal arse kissers – those people never go away...so it is quite the secure career choice through the ages."

Dagonet narrows his eyes and, wisely, Bors lets whatever comment he was going to make die and instead simply clears his throat.

"I don't get it. So they're British but they're not?" Bedwyr looks thoroughly confused.

"Ummm…kinda. As we established, they are part of the United Kingdom, but Wales is its own country. And it kind of runs itself. For the most part."

"Like Ireland?" Dagonet. I swear I could kiss the man sometimes…have thought about it long before now, if I'm honest. Just something about that rugged handsomeness…

"Precisely. Now, if I may…I have a few things I would like to do today, so if it really isn't too much trouble…" I point toward the door, which deep inside I know is useless and I don't actually expect them to leave – it's just a hopeful thought, my own private "happy place", if you will.

"Dragons?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Yet again I wonder just how they manage to travel through time, endure for centuries yet not be able to fathom the simplest things. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, I count to twenty. Funny – used to be I only needed to count to ten…these conversations have definitely taken a toll.

"I am positive, beyond a doubt, that there are absolutely, positively no dragons in Wales. At least not the kind you are thinking of. Besides, you all ought to know since most of you are of Welsh origin anyway." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I can almost see the confusion spreading like a wildfire.

"Am not a…kilt… I'm a Sarmatian." Oh Gareth. Definitely not the brainiac of the twins. We love him regardless.

"Not kilt, you dumb arse…Celt. Celt. You really are the dumb twin. Kilt is what the Pupster wears." Mordred shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

"Well he's right regardless. We're Sarmatian. Not Celt." Bedwyr crosses his arms firmly, stares hard at me and repeats himself slowly, in case I didn't understand, have gone deaf…whatever. "Sar-ma-tian. Not Celt. Not Welsh."

"No, you're wrong. You're predominantly Welsh. And the Welsh are Celts. Therefore…" I smile and nod my head, hoping they can follow the logic. "You were Sarmatian in the movie, but that's about it. If you read and examine Arthurian mythology..." I stop as I feel every eye focus on me. Phruck I cannot believe I used the 'M' word. This crew hates that word. Passionately. Sighing, I continue. "If you read Arthurian legend," I smile sweetly since I know they fully endorse the use of that word, "you will find that, overwhelmingly, the characters in it – all of you," I gesture around the room, "seem to have some basis in Welsh or Celt folklore." Oh great. Now I used the 'F' word. Could the ground just open and Hades swallow me now? Really. Because in the span of about two-minutes I've managed to utilize two of the most offensive words this crew knows – at least in reference to them. First mythology and now folklore.

"We are neither mythology nor folklore, you know…" Agravaine's eyes narrow and I know he won't hesitate to prove it to me, should I choose to dispute – which, I might add, will not be my choice.

"I know. I'm just saying is all. Hell, even most of the locations mentioned are claimed to be in Wales. So it only goes to reason that most of you can trace your roots back into Welsh…uh…legend. Except you, Lancelot. You seem to be an entirely French addition to the…epic…series…legend…whatever." I smile, hoping this tidbit distracts them a bit and allows me to gather my thoughts. Alas, it does not seem to be in the cards.

"Well that gets rid of him," Bedwyr moves forward and shoves Lancelot out of the room. "Knew he didn't matter anyway. I'm just… Are you sure about this? Cause why would they tell us we're Sarmatian and we're actually Welsh – doesn't make any sense."

I shrug. "It was a movie. M – O – V – I – E. Movie." Again, I demonstrate just why I won the third-grade spelling bee so handily. "Not at all historically accurate…not even mostly legend accurate. So get over it. You're Welsh – there's much worse things to be." And, yes, it does become silent as they are actually pondering this suggestion.

"Now…wait…" Bedwyr again. I swear the old man needs a hobby – well a hobby other than the two he currently seems to enjoy: annoying me or picking on Galahad. "We're Welsh – got that and, well, that's fine…" He shushes the group as they begin to protest the seemingly arbitrary nationality switch. "Just hear me out…so if we want to go home, it doesn't matter that Sarmatia doesn't exist anymore because, technically, we're from Wales, which does still exist. Well, all of us except Lancelot being as he's apparently French anyway."

Phruck. I am so dead.

"Uh…yes…technically that would be correct…"

The group seems to consider this as they again huddle up, talking hurriedly amongst themselves. I know better than to try to leave. I'll only end up dragged back so I might as well just get all comfy in my chair. And figure out how to head this off before I end up with a pissed off Welsh dragon on my doorstep.

"Question – do we have to take Arthur?"

"Have to? No. But, if you are all Welsh, then guess what – so is he."

More mumbling ensues among the assembly.

"Question – do we have to take the blue meanie – we mean Guinevere?"

"Again, it isn't a have to, but being as she is part of the…legend…then, well…" I shrug and incline my head. "And I guess I ought to tell you right now that you, Mouse," I motion toward him as he gives me a bewildered look, "you are not, well, technically, anything. I created you. You've got no roots in any folk – I mean legend." Whew, that was close. With breaking that news and almost using the 'F' word, I could've been in some serious trouble…

"Well if Mouse isn't going, I'm not going." Agravaine folds his arms across his chest. I note that both Gaheris and Gareth do the same. Even Mordred seems a bit uncertain, given this turn of events. If his baby brother isn't going, he's got no one to storm castles with…

"Don't be an idiot, you...idiot. We can go home. Home! The Welsh people are undoubtedly awaiting my glorious return as well…we'll be welcomed and embraced. We can fight against evil and tyranny. Restore the empire…" Arthur is gesturing grandly to a crowd that, unfortunately for him, doesn't seem to be buying what he's selling, if you get my drift.

"Wait…wait…" Oh good, now Bors is going to get involved. This ought to be just grand. "So what'chre sayin' is that we're from this li'l part of this li'l island that we couldn't wait to get our arses off…an' now we're supposed ta' be thinkin' bout goin' back? With him leadin'?" Words fail me to describe the rude gesture Bors makes in Arthur's direction. Suffice to say that it shuts Arthur up hastily and makes everyone else burst into laughter.

"Yes. But that was when we were…are…I don't even bloody well know anymore what the phrug we are…" Gawain looks completely confused.

"We're Welsh, damnit. So that stupid, blasted, bloody little island place is where we're from. All of us. Well, except you, Lancelot. You have to go back to…wherever French people call home. Have a nice trip." Beds gestures toward the doorway where Lancelot is leaning against the frame.

Apparently, in all this debate, it did not sink in to Arthur's mind that Lancelot was not Welsh. The commanding officer looks stricken at the mention that his best friend and second-in-command will not be returning to Wales with them.

"But…but…" Arthur moves to the doorway and puts his arm around Lancelot's shoulder. "That's it. If Lancelot isn't going to Wales, then, well, then neither am I."

Honestly, I don't know why Arthur thought any of them would care. He should know better by now. The Knights wave and shout farewell as well as various other colourful phrases of send-off, telling them to enjoy going to wherever it is Lancelot is from, pretty well without missing a beat in the, uh, we'll call them discussions around going to Wales.

Arthur and Lancelot shrug at each other and I hear Arthur suggest going to find Guinevere, while Lancelot nods enthusiastically; I decide I am so much better off for not hearing any more of that conversation.

"So…you're sure there are no dragons?" Galahad is pretty cute sometimes.

"Why, did you want hug one and keep it for a pet and perhaps call it Gallyhad…?" Mordred's penchant for Pup terrorizing rears its head.

"I think we might have some trouble stuffing it, you know, for the holidays…" Gaheris snickers and high-fives his twin. They really did enjoy watching me stuff the Thanksgiving turkey; me, I didn't enjoy the company nearly as much. Somewhere they learned what sound turkeys make and so every time I jammed a handful of stuffing in…yeah...I was treated to crude comments and turkey sounds.

"Maybe we could stuff Gallyhad with Galahad…" Mordred nods his approval at Agravaine and mutters about the good thinking and questions why they are the only two who think of these things.

"Stop. Just stop." Bedwyr looks pissed. "First of all, if anyone's gonna terrorize the Pup, it's going to be me. Second, this isn't getting us any damn closer to home."

You know, I am torn at this point. While I would love to see them out of my house, I wouldn't wish them on the Welsh. Really. The Welsh people I've met are lovely and it just seems really…horrible to inflict this sort of punishment on them. Fine. Fine. I'll do it. Don't push. Fine. Just back off.

Clearing my throat, I take a deep breath. This better erase every debt I have with whatever cosmic being or force or whatever controls this universe and any other universe… "Figured out where you're going to sleep while in Wales? Flannel sheets aren't stored under rocks. Or whose pantry you're going to raid? Not as if pudding cups and pop-tarts grow on trees. And, since you've all developed quite the taste for the beer in my cooler…"

Silence as they look at each other blankly.

"Is that an invitation to stay?" Bedwyr looks shocked…and slightly smug. "You'd miss us, admit it…you would…"

"I would not. I simply cannot, in good conscience, knowingly inflict your persons on the populous of Wales." I smile gently but as coldly as I can. "Get out."

Laughter greets my ears as they file out and into the kitchen. I've just given them carte blanche to the pantry and cooler, as far as they're concerned. Sighing, I sink back in my chair. I guess from here on out, I've got nobody to blame but me…gods help me.

* * *

**A/N:** I confess I'm pretty well out of ideas for now. If you've got some, let me know – I could be persuaded to tackle them.


	10. Valentine's Their Way

**Disclaimer:** I don't make anything off this stuff. This sucks.

**A/N: ** So…I wasn't sure what they were going to get up to next and then I got some suggestions about Valentine's. I hesitated and then got a very clear picture of…well…you'll see. I apologize for any trauma and, no, I will NOT pay your therapy bill if you are scarred for life. If that doesn't scare you…by all means…read on… And expletives have again been doctored.

**A/N (2): **OK. So. When you get to the shrieking part (you'll know), please do me a HUGE favour and when you read it, imagine it sounding like a shrieking five-year-old. For some reason, despite numerous upload and format attempts, FFNet would not take the dragged out version of the word. After 20 minutes of failure and much cursing that taught my son some nifty new vocabulary, I damn near took this chapter down and threw it away. So please, just bear with and insert your wailing shriek.

* * *

Ah…Valentine's. Just finished making my son's mailbox for school for the flood of Valentine's cards, assembled treat bags (forgot one year and am pretty certain we were labeled the parental equivalent of slugs by the other room parents), and watched as he signed his cards for classmates. This year is a _Star Wars_ Valentine's Day; last year was _Transformers_; I don't recall the year before that – might've been construction equipment. Hey – he's a boy – to him nothing says love like a Caterpillar front-end loader. Anyway.

"What the farg are these?"

Oh they cannot leave anything alone, can they? Seriously? The usual troublemaking crew is gathered around now that my son has gone off to play, inspecting the leftover cards. And, no, I am not even going to attempt to explain _Star Wars_ to them. I also say a small prayer that nobody from that ficdom decides to pay a visit; have an odd feeling that light sabers and swords wouldn't be a good mix – not to mention trying to explain the Force. Though Darth Vader's effect on them could be interesting…

"They are Valentine's cards." I snatch the bits of paper from their hands, fearing what they will do if left to their own devices.

"Valentine's?" Bedwyr raises a skeptical eyebrow and glances at the others.

"Yes. And before you ask," I'm hoping a pre-emptive explanation will settle this quickly, "it's a day that we celebrate love – of all shapes, sorts and kinds. We exchange cards, presents…chocolate is a big thing for the holiday as is jewelry…flowers…" I narrow my eyes and survey the group, wondering which one will come up with the smart remark.

Gaheris is examining some excess wrapping paper featuring baby Cupid. "So what's with the diapered baby with a bow? Didn't think baby diapers were considered romantic…"

"Yeah…not like soiled diapers ever seemed to make you…" Thank the universe Agravaine has the sense to clamp his hand over Gareth's mouth and shake his head vigorously.

"For your information, his name is Cupid. He's Roman and he is supposed to shoot people with his bow and they fall in love. Hence, Valentine's Day, Cupid, love…"

The collective groan is astonishing. I hadn't expected it and wasn't quite sure what it was about until I heard the mumbles about farging Romans and what does it bloody well take to get the frick away from them and their stupid arsed sodding ceremonies. I admit this does make me smile and laugh as a completely unintentional bonus of the explanation. I decide that since they're busy pissing and moaning, I'm leaving. While I can. Before they notice.

**XXXXXXXX**

Pulling into the garage, my gut tells me that I really ought to just turn around and go out somewhere. Call the husband, pick up the boy and go anywhere but here. You see, they've been much too quiet in the days leading up to Valentine's. Which, faithful reader, you as well as I know means a plot is afoot. Oh what the hell, might as well see what they're into, eh? Could be good for a laugh…maybe…hopefully…

I've barely gotten out of my truck when I hear someone yelling for Arthur. Listening closer, I realize it sounds suspiciously like the blue meanie (sorry, I mean Guinevere). Why on earth is she yelling for Arthur? And is that Arthur Castus, Commanding Officer of the Sarmatian Knights, cowering behind the lawnmower against the back wall?

"Arthur?"

"Shhhhhh…." He holds a finger to his lips, while motioning with the other hand for me to keep my voice down.

"Uhmmm…Arthur…is it safe to assume that your cowering behind the lawnmower in my garage has something to do with the princess screeching for you…?"

Black curls bob frantically and green eyes plead with me not to give his location away.

"Arthur…what did you do?"

"Nothing. Now would you keep your voice down?" He looks worriedly over my shoulder.

"Okay…let me ask this then, given the day, what did you not do?"

He shrugs half-heartedly and averts his gaze. I clear my throat and look at the garage door, then at him, hoping he realizes that he better start 'fessing up or I'm gonna tell that blue bint exactly where his arse is. And then enjoy the show.

"Alright…alright…" He lets out a sigh and emerges from his hiding spot. "I kind-of-sort-of -maybe- might-have forgotten to get Guinevere anything for Valentine's." He pauses and picks at his fingernails and shuffles his feet. Well that was a good, non-committal answer.

"But you got something for him! You got Lancelot something! So how can you say you forgot?"

I think I'm deaf. No, really. Her Royal Blueness has come charging into the garage and is shrieking at the top of her lungs over my left shoulder. I smile at Arthur and say the only thing I can think of, which I also think is the most prudent advice for the situation: "Run. Quickly."

I don't think I've ever seen Arthur move quite so fast…he is out of the garage and down the block before the blue demon realizes. Doesn't mean she's not going to chase him though… With a shrug, I decide to enter the house cause I'm pretty certain this was just a warm-up for what awaits in there.

Entering the kitchen, I toss my backpack onto a chair, followed by my coat. I can hear the laughter and hollering in the other room and shake my head. I don't know if I am quite ready to face them yet… Thankfully, I don't have to; I've been distracted by someone rooting around in my pantry, swearing in what I am guessing is Latin.

Well, well…apparently the 'forgetful gene' runs in the family. Lo and behold, it's none other than Uther ransacking the Valentine's candy supply.

"Last minute candy thieving?" I glance over at the shelf and see that he's already selected two of my chocolate roses and the package of large pink Peeps hearts that my son received from the girl with the crush on him.

"Uhmmm…"

"Y'know…I don't get it…it's historically a Roman holiday and even a Christian one on top of that, so, really, how the frig can you possibly forget it? Oh, and by the way, your son is going to be skinned by that blue thing he calls his girlfriend, if you care at all…"

Uther shrugs, which I am guessing means he's got much larger problems on his homefront. Must mean the Missus Uther is not at all happy and told him either he gets something or he gets to be cuddly with himself tonight. I shudder involuntarily at that particular thought.

Selecting another few pieces, Uther replaces the basket on the shelf and smiles at me; I think he thinks it looks charming – really, it comes across Hannibal Lecter creepy-esque. I was going to argue for the candy, but with that smile, he can have whatever he's taken, so long as he gets the heck out of my house. Again, I find I am giving the most prudent situational advice: "Go. Now." He vanishes into wherever it is they reside and I am thankful. Now to find out what the rest of the house is up to…

"Pardon me." A hand reaches past me to open the cooler and snag a bottle of beer. Turning, I see that from the mane, it is none other than Gawain. And he appears to be wearing, well, nothing at all. Not an entirely horrible Valentine's surprise…until I look a bit closer and notice his hair is…streaked…with bright red…and pink… Oh sweet jeebus…

"Gawain…"

"Huh?" At least now that he is done rummaging and made his beer selection, I can see that he is clothed – if you can call wearing a large, pink…well, I guess it is supposed to be a diaper, as being clothed. For the time being, we will and I mentally tally what I am certain will amount to yet another white bed sheet that needs replacing. Surprisingly, he seems very un-bothered by all this – leaning against the counter, drinking a beer. "Got the best of it, believe it or not."

"What?"

I look up in enough time to be shoved aside by someone very intent on retrieving a beer. Gawain motions that I should look over my shoulder and, hesitantly, I obey.

"Galahad?"

"What?"

"Uhmmm…what happened? Why are you so…pink?" Because he is, you see. The Pupster is pink from head to toe. And not just any pink – the only way I can think to describe his colouring is that if a bottle of Pepto Bismol could throw up, it would have done so all over Galahad. Black curls are pink. His beard is pink. Even that stupid kilt of his is, you guessed it, pink. I don't know if I want to laugh or be ill.

"Still not the worst." The calm voice of Gawain distracts me from staring at the poor Whelp.

"Really?" I'll be honest, I'm at a loss because what could possibly be worse than a head-to-toe pink Galahad…

Galahad snorts and motions toward the other room. "See for yourself. But don't say we didn't warn you." He snorts again and downs half his beer in one gulp. Great, if he keeps this up, I'll have to find a pink mop and bucket for his little pink self to clean up his eventual little pink mess… "Godsblessed savages."

Deep breaths. That's what I keep reminding myself. Deep breaths. Count to twenty. Though today, I think it might be thirty, at least. I am not even in the other room when I hear the shout of "Now!" and, before I know it a very, uh, upset looking Mouse is dangling in front of my face. Quite literally. Honestly, from my initial impression, I can't say that I blame him.

Mouse's arms are crossed over his chest but I can see he's holding a bow, painted pink, white and gold. The bow, that is, not Mouse. Mouse is still, well, Mouse coloured – meaning a bottle of Pepto hasn't barfed on him. Though he has grown a set of impressive pink, feathered wings….that match the pink, feathered briefs he's sporting as well as the lovely matching feathered anklets and bracelets. He's a disturbed looking pink version of Big Bird, dangling on a rope tossed over the stair railing. Holy jeebus.

My brain and all thoughts freeze. I am undecided if I should scream in horror and gouge my eyes out or if I should laugh…and then gouge my eyes out. Before I can do anything, there is a voice over my shoulder.

"Did he do it? He didn't do it did he? You didn't do it, did you?" Agravaine, clearly perturbed by this (and likely by Mouse sticking his tongue out at him), reaches out and shoves the small Knight, causing him to swing and twirl. I duck, so I don't end up taken out by Cupid Mouse and make my way to the couch, joining Dag and Kay.

We sit, watching the rest of the spectacle unfold; Mouse is now standing and shimmying out of the makeshift harness, the rope having been dropped when both Beds and Mordred came down the stairs, wanting to know what happened and why I wasn't covered in hearts… Raising an eyebrow, I look at Dag who motions to the small bag on the floor.

"Were planning to shower you in hearts: candy, chocolate, something the package said was 'confetti'. Told them not to, but you know they know better."

"I see…"

Somewhere in the course of the discussion, I overhear Bedwyr stating that he knew Mouse was the wrong choice and they should've gone with the original choice. Raising an eyebrow I look at Kay, who is fighting laughter.

"Who...?"

"Agravaine."

Dagonet can't control himself and bursts out laughing and snorting. "Of course you can guess that the Big Man was the first one to veto that idea…"

"Quite loudly and emphatically, as I recall." Kay too has succumbed to the laughter and is wiping tears from his eyes as he recalls the scene.

Oh dear gods. I can't control the giggles or the shudder at the thought of walking into a dangling, pink-feather-clad Agravaine. And truly, I'm not sure the railing or that rope is approved for that particular weight load…

Clearing my throat, I decide that I should end this here and now…for everyone's sake. "Alright then. Uh, thank you for that very disturbing show of affection and, uh, yeah… I think that, officially, this is the most memorable Valentine's I've ever had…" I can't think of anything else to say, so I shrug and smile. "You're all…something alright, but please, get out of my house. And take the various Cupid incarnations with you."

As they turn to go, I hear mutterings of 'idiotic scheme', 'told you she wouldn't love it' and 'ruined the best plan ever' which, of course only leads to scowling at Mouse since he, you know, didn't dump the bag of whatever over my head…and for which I am so grateful that he's about the only one I would even consider kissing today. Before they can get out the door, it flies open and they are nearly trampled by a charging Arthur, being followed closely by Lancelot – who, I might add, is carrying one of those impressively oversized velvet hearts that is filled with chocolates. They thunder past, take a sharp turn and, I am quite sure, take the stairs two at a time in their haste.

"Did anyone else…?" Gawain is standing in the doorway between rooms, looking as confused as everyone else. We silently nod as one and, of course, everyone else turns to look at me expectantly. I, of course, turn to look at…oh, wait, there's no one for me to turn and look at to get to the bottom of this. That particularly distasteful job falls on my shoulders for some stupid reason.

Turning, I slowly begin to plod toward the stairs, when Dag grabs my arm and pulls me toward the couch. Looking up questioningly, I don't have to wait long for an answer as I hear the battle cries of Woads on the warpath. I am further astonished as they charge into my house through the still open front door and stop, looking around expectantly. The blue princess is leading the charge, so I can only guess she is still looking for her, uh, whatever Arthur is and, most likely, for Lancelot as well. I, of course, would prefer to have a Valentine's that does not include a massacre; apparently, however, I am alone in this feeling since I hear the usual suspects tell the group they went upstairs. And, of course, I don't need to tell you where the Woad posse takes off to…I hear the pounding on a door – the idiots must have locked themselves in my closet (or bathroom), seeking sanctuary. Until I hear a scuffling sound…like someone or something is being dragged across the floor…followed by a shriek…

"MINE!"

Oh dear gods, someone's being dismembered. I just know it. I know that flashes through everyone's head; what I don't realize is how anxious they all are to find out just who until they rush toward the stairs as a pack, shoving each other to be the first up. Of course, being the smallest, I know it's best to just wait. And, honestly, I'm really not all too enthusiastic about finding out just what the hell is going on. Another shriek and the group no longer cares about who is first, second, etc. – they are shoving just to get up the stairs faster so they can witness the carnage. Shockingly, even Dag and Kay are part of the cursing, shouting and pushing. I follow, slowly. After all, when you're merely the person who will have to call the carpet cleaners, do the laundry and take schtuff to the dry cleaners – and then shell out the dough for it all, it isn't nearly as entertaining.

Howling laughter reaches my ears as I reach the top of the stairs. I think my pace would be called a trudge, but I'm really not certain. Kay turns and rolls his eyes at me with a smirk, beckoning me to hurry. Oh now, if this is amusing Kay so greatly, I've just got to see. And what to my wondering eyes should appear but the sight of Lancelot and Guinevere wrestling around on my bedroom floor. Clothed, mind you, so it isn't that bad and is, in fact, rather humourous since, from all angles, it appears she's giving the SIC about all he can handle.

"MINE!"

Holy crap. That was him, not her! Lancelot shrieks his ownership of the large velvet heart, which is apparently the bone of contention in all this. Guinevere is clawing at him, trying to keep her grasp on the heart and tear it out of his hands and, I have to admit, she's doing a pretty good job as I see Lancelot's grasp slipping on his precious…whatever… The Woads are standing around (godsdarnit, someone get them off my bed with their shoes on for crikey's sake) and look very alarmed by this behaviour out of their, uh, whatever she is to them. I mean, to me she's a nut-job with a bondage clothing fetish, but who knows how they view her…

Merlin approaches and I hold my hand up to stem the questions. "Valentine's. Roman and Christian holiday. Apparently the Roman twit gave the Sarmatian twit a gift but did not get anything for your…daughter." Luckily I do remember who I am talking to before saying something entirely stupid. "Heart. Filled with chocolate. Don't know what else to tell you, really." I shrug and he shrugs before yelling something that, thankfully, gets the Woads off my bed. My guess is that he's told them the equivalent of 'let's get outta here' in Woad-ese as they depart, shaking their heads. Which I really wish they wouldn't do, but, hey, the carpet already needs to be vacuumed…and I think that is a good job for Arthur, wherever that boneheaded instigator is hiding…

Speaking of the devil and all that, a dark head pokes itself out of my closet in time to witness Guin land quite a shot upside Lance's head, allowing her sole possession of the heart – momentarily. Once he recovers his senses, Lancelot reaches over and latches onto the heart she is now proudly holding over her head like some sort of trophy…and again, the shriek rings out, this time from both of them, in unison, as the tug-of-war begins anew.

"MINE!"

I grab the closet door and jerk it open wider before Arthur can retreat and hide. He gives me a pleading look and I simply glare in response. I am so not handling this. At all. It's his damn fault and he can damn well fix it. At least I hope that's what my look says. It must because he sighs heavily and releases the closet door; as he does, I shove him toward the two combatants and point. It is at this point I hear the groan and watch as the spectators wince and grimace. From that reaction, I can guess that Guin scored a, uh, direct hit and, I am also guessing that by her laugh of triumph, it also means Lancelot has relinquished his hold on the heart and is now clutching something else.

"Oh now, that's just wrong…I don't care who it is…that's just…" Kay shakes his head in disapproval. Without thinking, or perhaps with thinking, I'm never can really tell with any of them, Kay steps forward and plucks the velvet prize from the grip of the smirking princess as she alternates dancing a victory jig and taunting the downed SIC.

"HEY!" She turns and advances menacingly on Kay, who simply stands his ground calmly. Of course, you aren't going to threaten one of the Sarmatians without involving all of the Sarmatians. Thankfully, somewhere in her brain, this registers and Guin quickly backs down. Arthur, however, is not so fortunate since she turns her attention to him, stomping over and getting nose-to-chin with him. "Make him give it back. Now." She points at Kay and then folds her arms across her chest, drumming her fingers on her upper arms in impatience.

"Uh…"

"Now, Arthur." A foot stomp accompanies the terse demand. Oh, this is getting good. I wonder if she'll have a go at him if he fails to demand the return of her prize.

"Uh…"

I watch the group behind him carefully. Various eyebrows are quirked and small, twitchy smiles are playing on the faces of some as they close in on him and her. Oh Arthur, this is some quandry and I am so glad it isn't me having to face either the wrath of Smurfette or the inquisition of the Assembly. For once, it would seem the universe is smiling on me. I won't gloat, however, because I know exactly how fickle the universe can be and I feel no real need to tempt fate at this point.

Being engrossed in watching the silent struggle between Artie and his bondage queen, no one's bothered to pay attention to Lancelot. Without warning, Lancelot charges through the group, snatches the bright red prize out of Kay's grip and is racing down the stairs, his laughter trailing behind him. Of course, this only serves to set Bondage Smurf off in a fit of, well, anger is the only way I can describe it as she glares at Arthur (who wisely holds his hands up in surrender) before she turns and races after the heart thief – but not without pausing to glare and curse Kay up and down in whatever language; in response to which Kay only smirks and snickers. Dutifully, Arthur slinks off after them with a bowed head, pleading for them to 'just stop', 'today is about love' and whatever other day-appropriate drivel comes to his mind, apparently.

Exchanging amused glances, we all bust out in laughter. If we hadn't witnessed it, we would never have believed… There are admiring words for some of the blows Guin managed to land, as well as snickers at the deviousness of their brother. After a few minutes the laughter dies down and a warm silence fills the room.

"So…"

"No, Bedwyr, I don't and you all still need to leave."

Sighing, they again resume their 'shuffle of shame' (as I am later told it's called by Dagonet over a pot of tea and some cookies) down the stairs and out the front door.

Trailing behind, I close and lock the front door before dashing to the garage and shutting that door and locking it as well…but not before one last shriek reaches my ears and makes me smile.

"MINE!"


	11. Fireworks? Oh, You Shouldn't Have

**Disclaimer:** Oh trust me, if I were making any money off this, I'd so quit my stupid job and entertain you guys all day, every day.

**A/N:** Happy 4th of July, my American pals. Have a good day and be safe.

**A/N (2):** Italics denote text taken directly from the _U.S. Declaration of Independence_ because I could never, ever take credit for those words or ideas set forth so many years ago.

* * *

I smack the grubby hand that reaches into the potato salad and listen as Galahad shrieks and moans. Sweet mother of mercy, you'd think I'd just stuck a dagger in him, the way he's carrying on. Looking up I see his commotion has aroused the curiosity of his comrades and they saunter into the room, appraising the "spread". Smiling and winking, they advance on the buffet…

"Not for you!" I pick up the large chef's knife and wave it in their general direction. I am the food police and I swear to gods I am not going to lose this battle. I've worked too hard putting this smorgasbord together for guests to have their dirty paws all over everything.

"What d'ya mean, not for us?" Bors looks around, genuinely confused. "Nuff here for an army…an' since those stinkin' Spartans ain't here…"

Ah, yes, the Spartans. They visited briefly (no pun intended) and though it was a fair amount of chaos for a spell, they "went for a walk" far too soon. Oh, what I wouldn't do right about now to have them back to distract this motley crew from focusing on my kitchen and, more precisely, on all the food stuffs in my kitchen.

"Perhaps, just perhaps, I have invited the fat man in the red suit for a mid-year stop over. You know, to try to smooth over the absolute chaos you caused during his holiday and make some semblance of peace before my kid gets put on the naughty list due to your over-protectiveness…"

OK – I know it was wrong. I do. But I can't resist. And I know I'll likely end up regretting it shortly, but really…can you blame me? Honestly? If you think you can, I strongly advise you go back and peruse that Christmas chapter again…then see if you can condemn me so easily... Go on, I'll wait – believe me this group isn't going anywhere anytime soon…sadly.

Of course, this earns me glares as they square shoulders into battle stances and crack knuckles…and other assorted appendages. Tristan looks especially antsy for Santa to show his face; I know the Scout feels a very deeply personal score to settle with the red-suited man.

"Or…or…maybe I've invited the Norse pantheon to stop over for some snacks…" Long story and, yes, I promise it is a chapter in-process as soon as I recover from the trauma…

This time they growl and immediately shift their focus from the food to a discussion of "homeland security". Yes, I do let them watch far too much television…though it didn't help the other day when the truck emblazoned with "Homeland Security" decals and lights blew past us on the interstate either…

I turn around so they can't see me struggle to contain my laughter at their horrified reaction. Score one for me, zero for them and a save for my buffet…and the alcohol, gods don't forget the huge save for the alcohol. It's a winning day all around thus far.

My victory is short-lived though as the sound of mini-explosions echo through the air. Frick and frack. I am so gonna strangle those stupid neighbours. Do they not know how they're ruining my life by feeding into this group's curiosity? I swear to gods it's as if this group pays that group to instigate things…and barring that possibility, it's as if the neighbours secretly get some sick, twisted enjoyment out of seeing the "crazy lady" lose it…

I don't get time to ponder that thought trail for long before I hear the applause behind me.

"Oh…that was good. Almost set us off on a chase as good as the jackalope hunt…which was only topped by the impending snipe invasion that we had to thwart before it got started…" Mordred's voice is dripping with sarcasm and I can't help shrugging. And before you knock it, you try living with this group constantly underfoot and see if you don't come up with some half-baked ideas to try to get some peace and quiet… No, really, if you would try and think of some ideas and forward them on, I'd appreciate it because I'm running real low on ways to distract them.

"Hey – aren't you supposed to be at work or somewhere…?"

Scowling I turn toward Gawain, brandishing the chef's knife and threatening to cut off his fingers if he so much as thinks of dipping them into the guacamole. Thankfully he gets the message with no bloodshed and backs away.

"Day off if it truly bothers you that much and you just have to know. Figured you'd all be happy we're not on the train." I decide to refrain from using their colourful descriptions of both the train and the other riders.

"Uh…" Galahad raises his hand, which I might add has some of the whip cream from the berry cake clinging to it.

I tighten my grip on the knife and close my eyes. Maybe if I wish hard enough, they'll all go away. No, it's never worked in the past, but there's always a first time, right?

"Do you have a question or do you have to go to the bathroom? Which is it, boy? This isn't kindergarten you know...you can go use the facilities anytime you feel the…urge…" Bedwyr snorts. The old goat can never resist making Galahad's life miserable. And, yes, the kindergarten reference just makes me tremble in anger even more because it still amazes me that my son was not the first child in the history of school to be expelled from kindergarten due to his "bodyguards".

"I have a question, you old know-it-all." Galahad sticks out his tongue and everyone's eyebrows rise collectively as Beds takes a step forward…and Galahad takes a step back so Gawain is between him and Beds. Once he feels safe behind his protector, Galahad continues. "I was wondering why you have the day off and what all those explosions the past couple of nights have been about…"

"They're called fireworks you idiot. Pay attention. Have you not heard her constant complaining and whining about how they're keeping her awake cause the stupid frickety fracking neighbours wait until eleven o'clock to shoot them off? Jeebus, Galahad, try and stay with us…I know it's hard for you but really do try."

Yeouch. Wow. OK. So now that Bedwyr's gotten all that off his chest, I'm hoping he feels a bit better even if it does appear the Pupster is about to cry. Before I can jump in, Gareth and Gaheris decide they need to add their input, each one contributing parts of sentences.

"Fireworks. You know, to celebrate…cause there's a lot to celebrate and what better way to celebrate their heroes – us – than with a gigantic party… Like our successful defense of the house against that annoying Thunder God… And, ooh, don't forget sending the Spartans packing back to wherever it is they're from…"

Everyone shares a confused look at the last statement and shakes their head with either a sigh or small laugh. Yeah…Gareth is most assuredly not the brains of the two…

Wait a second. They think the fireworks are for them? Seriously? Oh no, no, no…that is just far too much ego for me to let them entertain. Fireworks for them…more like strapping them to some fireworks…

"They are not for any of you, morons. This…oh my gods…" I can't even formulate words I am so flabbergasted that they honestly and truly think this is a celebration of or for them. Shaking my head, I collect my thoughts – or at least what I have left of them. "It's a national holiday…"

"Sarmatian day? Wow…hey, we get our own national holiday, guys!" Gawain smiles proudly and picks up a chip, intent on digging into the bowl of guacamole that he's picked up.

Snatching the bowl from his grasp, I put it on the far end of the counter before continuing. Dear gods I hope they really don't believe that this holiday is about them…

"Celebrated with lots of food and lots of alcohol. So very fitting…of course, we need to find some wenches to make the day truly complete and perfect…" Agravaine shrugs and smiles that lecherous, smug, infuriating smile of his.

Godsblessed…

"And do we get hugs as well? Maybe kisses?"

What? I whip around to find Lancelot standing there, arms outstretched and some sort of what I am guessing is a pucker plastered to his kisser. Either that or he is in serious pain and needs a healer, quick. I note that Dagonet does not step forward – in fact he backs up about three steps – so I am surmising this is a "kiss me" face. I shudder and notice that Arthur is situated just behind Lancelot, posed similarly.

"No…no hugs…no kisses…" I back away, vehemently shaking my head and thoroughly revolted. Any good feelings I had about today are swiftly flying the coop. And taking with any sort of sanity I might have had on reserve, I might add.

"And you aren't even Sarmatian, you bloody slimy filthy Roman intruder so you need to just clear out of our holiday anyway. You get nothing – and you'll like it." Mordred glares at Arthur whose smile promptly turns upside down. At least until Lancelot turns around with arms outstretched…

Shuddering collectively (and, I feel comfortable asserting, as we all choke back some vomit), we all avert our eyes because, really, none of us really want to know anything more than we already do.

"So…now that I need to have my eyes gouged out with spoons…" Dagonet and Kay place hands on Tristan's arms to keep him from fulfilling Bedwyr's request, despite the quiet insistence from the Scout that he would be doing the old reprobate a favour.

"Back to our Sarmatian holiday demands and criteria…" Gaheris grins widely.

Whoa…whoa… Demands and criteria? What the heck?

"What are you talking about? What Sarmatian holiday? Demands and criteria? Did I miss something somewhere?" I want to ask them if they're high, but I figure then I would have to explain that expression as well and, honestly, I just…I'd most assuredly have to kill them.

"Good gods, woman…you have got to stop hanging out with that Pupster. He's starting to rub off on you and not in a good way…though I'm not certain anything good can rub off him anyway…" Beds strokes his chin in contemplation. "Have you missed or forgotten the past however many minutes of conversation?"

Oh. Right. THAT Sarmatian holiday thing. I watch in horror as they all shrug, apparently taking my silence as a blessing to proceed and make a beeline for the food – again.

"STOP! Just…stop, OK?" I sigh and realize I am now trapped and this is not going to be easy. Nor is it going to be painless taking away a holiday they never even had but yet are convinced they've somehow a right to. Why me? Why? Why? Why? Taking a deep breath, I try to speak calmly and evenly. "This is not a national Sarmatian holiday. As I've already previously explained, Sarmatia does not exist any more, therefore you can not have a Sarmatian holiday. To do that, you would need your own damn country in which you could celebrate your own damn holiday however it damn well pleased you. You are in America and this is an American holiday. Since you are not American, nor are you invited guests of the American, BACK THE FRIGGITY FRAGGETY FRUCK AWAY FROM THE FOOD!" There. I said it. I feel better now even if they are looking at me as though I've grown another head. And possibly a tail. Maybe even some horns for good measure.

"OK…so I'll bite…" Mordred shrugs and stuffs a baby carrot loaded with ranch dip into his maw. Or, I should say more accurately, ranch dip with a chaser of baby carrot.

"Looks like you already did…" Galahad snorts and points at Mordred's chin, where some excess ranch dip has taken up residence. Of course, this only spurs Mordred on to tell Galahad to bring it (yes, with the accompanying hand gesture) which the Pup answers with some sort of unintelligible response because he's far too busy ducking behind Gawain and under the table… And, yes, I am certain if you close your eyes, you'll see how this is unfolding before my eyes: Knights are trash talking each other (Galahad from the safety of under the table and hidden by the red, white and blue table cloth) and I am slowly counting to one-thousand as I rub small circles on my temples. Yeah, we passed the ability to count to one-hundred and achieve zen a few chapters ago…

Clearing my throat, I decide that I better explain this and do it fast before my entire buffet ends up on the floor and I end up murdering them all.

"It is an American holiday wherein we celebrate winning our independence and establishing the United States of America as a self-governing country. Not exactly on this day, but on a day close enough to call, our Declaration of Independence was ratified which, among other things, proclaims that, and I do quote, _'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.' _You guys ought to be able to relate to that, at the very least. And, while these aren't uniquely American ideas, we are the only people to have written them down – I think." I'm quite certain my high school American History teacher is getting a warm, fuzzy feeling right about now, wherever he is. Shrugging I survey the group, noting that they have fallen silent and actually do appear to be contemplating what I've just said.

"OK…independence from whom, exactly?" Dagonet crosses his arms expectantly, indicating I will not be getting away without answering and I watch as Bors and a few others follow his lead.

I sigh as my head drops. Great. Now I have to tell them it was from them…well, not exactly them but their off-spring of sorts…

"The British."

"Wait…wait…you mean you went to war with…us…? Well, not us exactly but I remember a while ago we talked about how we're part of the stock for the British people…" Wow. Score one for Gareth. Can't slip anything past him.

"Yes, Gareth. Your off-spring, sort of. We just…well, no offense, but your off-spring got pretty darn bossy there for a while and, well, we got tired of being bossed around and treated like arse-kissers." I nod toward Dag who softens his stance a bit. He can relate, being the officially designated royal arse-kisser for the mighty King Bors. "And so, well, we decided not to put up with it any longer and…well…you know…" I scratch the back of my neck uncomfortably as I realize I am alone, in a room with some very large men who, I am guessing, are fairly well armed to boot. And I've just told them we sent their off-spring packing from our country. Probably not one of my more brilliant moments.

"And so, if I understand right, this is the day you, as a nation, celebrate that victory?" Dagonet is the voice of reason so it would only stand to, well, reason that he would suss things out for the entire group.

Shrugging, I nod. "Yeah…" In an instant, I have a brainstorm. "But, hey, I guess we could include you guys too cause the second thing we celebrate and remember on this date is all the warriors – both fallen and still serving – who protect our land and our freedom."

A solemn silence overtakes the group as they weigh what I've said. Unfortunately they all know that with freedom, with upholding ideas and ideals, portions of the population pay a heavy price.

Quietly we all make our way to the beverage cooler and select something. The only sound is the opening of bottles and shifting of weight. Silently, bottles are raised in a salute to the living and the dead, those who came up with the ideas and ideals and those who fought or fight for them every single day, because among the warriors, there is no need for words.


	12. Thunder Gods and Paranoia

**Disclaimer: **No compensation, no ownership except of the obvious.

**A/N:** So last chapter ended kind of somber – sorry. This is another weird one, so I ask your indulgence and about all I can say is that the fat man in the red suit has got NOTHING on the God of Thunder. And a mighty God of Thunder worthy thanks to my beta, _Lycanus1_. Once again, insert your own expletives…believe me, there's plenty of opportunity in this chapter – and that's just on my part.

* * *

_**Thunder Gods and Paranoia**_

"Got in a wee bit late last night, didn't you?"

What the…? Am I sixteen again and someone forgot to tell me?

"Yes, yes I did…thanks for keeping tabs on my comings and goings…cause you have nothing better to do, apparently." Must remember this and leave them a list of chores next time. Not that I expect any of them would be done…and most likely I'd just have to re-do whatever tasks they did decide to undertake…

"Have fun?"

I swallow my mouthful of coffee and simply nod. I should've known they would be lying in wait for me. Should've known, but neglected to heed my gut instinct – something I'll pay for shortly, I'm sure.

"Do anything…interesting…?"

What the…? Is this like twenty questions or something?

"It was date night – you figure it out." I know what they're digging for and it isn't going to happen. I resolve to give them nothing. If they want info, they'll damn well have to work for it in this cat-and-mouse game that we've been engaging in for some time now…

The assembly mutters unhappily to themselves and it's all I can do to keep the smile from my face. I know that they know where I was last night – and it's eating their guts to the core. Is it wrong that I find this sickly satisfying and muse that I just might have found my own secret revenge…? Nah, I didn't think so either. Oh am I going to enjoy this one for all it's worth.

Relenting, I decide that baiting them might just be a bit of fun after all. "Date night. Usual sort of stuff: dinner, movie…" I shrug nonchalantly and bite back the laugh as I see their eyes narrow and their lips thin into angry lines. Oh, they're pissed now. I continue, becoming lost in my own enjoyment. "Dinner was good…new seafood place. Highly recommend it if you get the chance…" My voice trails off as I realize they have, in fact, abandoned my office and moved to the kitchen, their usual place for cooking up recipes for disaster, I might add (think back to the Christmas fiasco).

I linger at the edges of the group, only hearing angry whispers, the occasional fist striking the island top and odd words like "stop this before it gets started", "put up long enough", "stupid gods and stupider movies" and, the most amusing and yet alarming one "find me a pair of those stupid jeans"…

Oh, heaven help me.

I hang my head and slowly begin to shake it. Before I can interject anything, they break and turn to me with scowls before stalking past, determination writ plainly on their countenances.

Heaven help me...

_**A few hours later…**_

I return from my errands with trepidation. The house looks normal from the outside, but I know better. They were far too moody and glaring when I left a few hours ago. That only means bad, bad things. And, I have to admit, a few of my purchases will not help. Well, they'll help my level of amusement but…yeah, I know, I know – I'm just gonna end up paying for it in the end and you, dear reader, will have to listen to me moan and groan, but hopefully it'll be a fun ride while it lasts (for you and me). Or, better yet, maybe some incredibly built, blonde thunder god will come to my rescue…jeans or full Asgardian battle attire, I'm not really fussy and it's all good…

The sharp rap on the window of my truck elicits a scream from me and a loud laugh from the perpetrator.

Uther.

Gods, what does that damn old… Clearing my throat, I remove my keys and am shocked when he not only opens the truck door but graciously offers his hand to assist me out. Immediately my senses go into hypersensitive mode.

"Bags?"

I look to the back of the truck and he nods before going to retrieve them. Humming to himself, I might add, which only serves to creep me out further. Bags in hand, Uther is waiting by the door to the house expectantly as I come around the truck and head toward him.

"Purse, dear…"

Stopping, I reach in and snatch my bag, trying to contain the absolute terror that is now coursing through my body. Uther's being nice AND he called me"dear"…something is definitely, assuredly, terribly wrong. My mind races as I try to imagine just what they've gone and done. Shutting the door, I stop and stare at the Roman Commander waiting a bit too patiently and far too nicely. Kudos to Uther though, his face betrays nothing even as I intensify my scrutiny and I sigh in defeat. If even he is involved in their little shenanigans…I'm done. Through. Life as I've known it is over.

Uther, meanwhile, has inspected the contents of the bags and chuckles with a raised eyebrow before he makes that annoying 'tsk, tsk' sound. "Couldn't resist, could you? Oh, they'll simply _love_ this…"

Before I can even attempt to strike some lopsided bargain which I would inevitably end up on the losing side of anyway, he's in the door loudly announcing my return – and that he has packages…

I enter in enough time to see them descend like some flock of…I would say vultures, but then I'd have some ticked off vultures invading my house so let's just say something horrifying…and poke around the bags. Yes, those are Thor fruit snacks…and Thor soda (really, it isn't my fault that Dr. Pepper is the soda my husband prefers and they happen to be running a Thor promotion, is it? Really?)…and a Thor slurpee cup from 7-Eleven (hey, it's hot out and I was thirsty)…and, well, yeah the plastic winged helm is completely my fault, but at least I stopped short of buying the replica hammer that lights up and makes noise and repeats phrases from the movie…to say nothing of the many action figures I passed by on the shelves… And from the expressions on their faces, I've just shouted all that at the top of my lungs as well. Damn that lack of inner monologue that I seem to have been cursed with as of late…

Looking around, I'm further angered to see Uther give me a thumbs-up with a wink and a broad smile. Stupid old man would find this highly amusing. Wonder if his arse would find it quite so amusing if I asked Odin to drop by for a drink and a chat…cause you know, there's something about a distinguished older gent with an eye patch.

"So…where is he?" Mordred's eyes narrow as he pokes around in the bags a bit more.

Wow!Who unleashed the paranoia bug in this house? Sheesh. So I saw the movie. So I bought the magazine with Thor on the cover. So he was on the cover of three different magazines and I bought a copy of each…teachers always said I should read more in school and I do need to set a good example of readership for my son, don't I? What's the problem? Sheesh. Besides, have you seen the man? Dear Thunder Gods, he would never, ever fit into one of those tiny shopping bags… I rather imagine him impressively breaking down the door anyway – strikes me as the sort who wouldn't let some measly barrier like a locked door stand in his way…and with that hammer…

The silly, infatuated smile from my mind swooning must've plastered itself on my face because the next thing I heard was the shouting about how they needed to finish this once and for all and show others who's boss and, honestly, I don't even know what else as they jostle past me with glares and growls, stalking off to only gods know where to plot only gods know what.

Amazingly, shockingly even, the evening passes without incident – and also with very few sightings of them…which raise my suspicions to a level the U.S. Department of Homeland Security doesn't even have a colour code for – and, yes, that is bad. Very bad. I go to bed wondering yet again just what I've done to anyone in this entire universe to deserve this…

_**The next morn…**_

I am awakened by the feeling of someone watching me. Opening one eye, I spy Mouse perched on the footboard and give an audible sigh of relief – hey, if given the choice, I much prefer this to waking to Tristan looming over my bed like death waiting to pounce. Sadly, most days, I am not given the choice. Anyway – it's Mouse perching and that's fine even if it is a bit unsettling.

"I'll go let them know you're awake."

"Wait…Mouse…" I sigh, however this time it is not in relief but rather a sigh of 'oh my gods what's waiting for me' and push the tangles out of my face. "Is it that bad? Really? Be honest with me…"

I wish I could describe how utterly creepy the smile is that he turns and gives me over his shoulder. If my Spidey senses were tingling before, they have gone so far into hyperdrive, I am surprised my heart doesn't shoot out of my chest and ping the smallest Knight right in the forehead. He must know this as he snickers and trots out of my room before shouting at the top of his lungs that I am awake…

I close my eyes and wait…and wait…and wait some more…but no one shows; I don't even hear the sound of them galloping upstairs. I can't decide if this is incredibly good or unspeakably terrible. Yeah, I know…I'm voting for unspeakably terrible as well. Guess there's only one way for us to find out, eh?

Mustering all the courage I can, I get out of bed and cautiously approach the bathroom; squinting at the mirror, I am both shocked and relieved that it appears the bathroom is in the same state it was when I went to bed last night… Finishing up with my morning routine, I toss on some clothes and make my way downstairs. OK, so if upstairs was basically untouched, the rest of the house is going to be in shambles, right? Yeah, my stomach is voting the same as you.

I can't even describe the contraption they have rigged to the ceiling fan in the living room but it's sufficiently frightening and, I swear, has been equipped with every sharp, pointy dagger they could strap onto it. Some of them are four-deep, so it has to be some sort of firing mechanism – I should add that there are three to four daggers strapped to EACH fan blade for a total of somewhere between fifteen to twenty daggers total strapped to my ceiling fan…

Shaking my head, I proceed into the breakfast area/kitchen and note the very detailed drawings on the table. Glancing up from those, I catch my breath and stop to stare. There is a ginormous battle axe that looks (a) very heavy and (b) very sharp aimed at the patio door… Ah, a re-use of the battle axe in the head for the red suited man. Got it. What alarms me is the plastic sheeting just beyond the edge of the patio itself…apparently they heeded my warning that there better be no mess for any of their little defense mechanisms… Instinctively I reach up to touch and inspect the rigging when I feel someone grab my wrist.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you…"

"Beds…do I even want to know…?"

The old goat shakes his head but doesn't laugh…doesn't even crack a smile. Now, I'm seriously worried.

"Beds…"

"That particular rigging is mine. Pretty, isn't it? Lethal too…" He smiles a cold, deadly smile and quite honestly, I'm not sure I want to know just how they assessed the lethality of the trap… "Ceiling fan was the work of Tristan, in case you couldn't tell…" Now he lets out a low, creepy cackle that sends a shiver through my spine. "The Twins took care of the garage and your two very favourites took care of greeting him if he really is stupid enough to use the front door…"

I'm not even certain I want to know, though I do have to pass the garage to get to the coffee and out of sheer curiosity I open the door and peek into the garage… Holy Jeebus – they've gone overboard, really. If I was in doubt before, this rather seals the deal. There are no less than ten bows armed and aimed at the large overhead door. Well, screw the idea of going anywhere today.

"They'll be upset if I don't appraise their twisted handiwork, won't they?"

"Aye."

Nodding glumly, I finish fixing a cup, all the while wishing it was whiskey I was adding and not half-and-half. I motion to Beds to lead the way, figuring that he ought to know where to avoid stepping…though I am also trusting that he won't allow me to be run through – a risky proposition at this point, I realize after we're underway.

Approaching the front door, my eyes go wide and my mouth drops open. Mordred and Agravaine have, somehow, rigged it so that opening the front door will inflict multiple wounds – any one of which I am guessing would be pretty lethal. If the sword at about waist height didn't cut you in two, there's a good chance another one would behead you…and if you somehow manage to dodge both of those, good luck getting past the one that will take you down at the knees…and then you'll fall forward and…dear gods, that looks like one of those spike strip things the cops put down to stop speeding cars… Cocking my head to the side, I shudder as I realize it's angle of strike…Oh lord, they have just gone way too far this time…way too far.

"And just where is everyone, my most esteemed tour guide?" Crossing my arms, I turn to Beds, who simply shrugs.

"Perimeter patrol." He's so nonchalant, so bland and factual about it as if I'm supposed to just understand what that means…which, apparently, I have shouted at him judging by how his eyebrow raises. "We've broken into our usual patrol groups and are covering the perimeter to ensure that…_he_…" could Beds have said that one word with any more contempt? "does not make an undetected appearance."

Thankfully, somehow I keep my mouth shut from pointing out that with that hammer of his, Thor is able to fly because, well, really, I don't need to make the situation any worse. Also thankfully, apparently today my inner monologue has returned to being just that – inner. Retreating to the breakfast area, I set my mug down on the table and rub my temples. They have just taken this way too far…

"Go get them. Really, Beds. This has gone way too far…"

He silently appraises me and glances at the clock over my shoulder. "Give it about ten minutes…they'll be back for morning briefing and report."

Oh goodie…ten minutes until I get to find out just what…at this point I don't even know. I watch as they come in – each one is in full patrol gear. Of course, Beds is kind enough to disengage the trigger mechanism on his contraption so they can enter via the patio. Even my voices of reason, of logic (Dagonet & Kay in case you've forgotten), have been sucked into their little paranoid frenzy and gaze at me with disdain. And if they're feeling like this toward me…oh gods, my poor husband – the man who did nothing more than try to be nice and ensure I got to see the movie I'd been salivating over…the man who put up with my giggling and sighing throughout the entire film… Apparently my inner monologue has again hit a serious glitch and once again forgotten the 'inner' denotation because before I know it, I'm being answered.

"He's fine. Unscathed." Mordred's eyes narrow and he studies me and somehow I know he wanted to add that I'll be lucky if I emerge unscathed, but thankfully he kept that to himself.

"Well that's a relief that you all haven't entirely lost your minds. But, really? What? Okay, so let's take a good look around, shall we? Do you see any thunder gods roaming freely about the house?" I raise an eyebrow and glare at each of them.

"This is what is known as a good defense…" Agravaine – should've known he'd take that stance. And after all I've done for him. See if I renew those license plates next year…maybe I will just put 'Dred' or, hell, even 'Bedwyr' on them…

"But really, boys…come on…so I saw a movie. I see lots of movies."

"You bought his stuff. You were buying his stuff before the movie even came out!" Wow…who knew it would get under Uther's skin so badly? This might not be all bad, now that I'm reassessing things from this viewpoint.

"Ok…ok…so I bought some stuff. Seriously. Who poured the heaping bowls of paranoid flakes you all seem to have eaten today? Really cause you've gone just a wee bit overboard… I mean, sure there's various products and trinkets and doo-dads (don't ask, it just sounds like a fun word and right now I need some fun)…but have you actually seen the thunder god here? Has he actually walked in and said 'Hi, I'm Thor and this is my hammer and we're really happy to meet you'?" I stop and look at them pointedly; crossing my arms and indicating that I am waiting on and fully expecting they will answer. There is a mixed chorus of 'no' and 'nay' and 'nope' and…well you get the idea. "Then, really…what's the problem? I mean, come on…you can't tell me that one Norse god has you this worried? You, the men who single-handedly are responsible for the fact that not one character from any other fandom who is not pre-approved by you will not set foot on my property? Who have, at one time or another, sent various "manly" characters fleeing while screeching and, yes, some of them crying like itty bitty babies…while you all stood on my patio and laughed? You're seriously worried about some damn thunder god who can't even apparently be arsed to put in an appearance? Really?" I finish and hold my breath, hoping my little tirade has somehow sunk in through their thick skulls.

Thankfully, that seems to have provided enough of an ego stroke and they begin to shrug at one another and shift their weight.

_**Later that night…**_

I smile as I walk through my living room at the now blade-less ceiling fan. Glancing toward the front door, I am likewise happy to see that the home defense system has been disassembled and, from what I can see, so have the systems protecting the patio door and garage. Ah…peace. Well, at least as much peace as I can expect with this group.

Groaning I realize there is an argument taking place in the kitchen – why is it always my kitchen anyway? Shaking my head, I decide that I am going to stay far out of it and just go get the spoonful or two of ice cream I wanted and go back to bed.

"Let's ask her opinion…"

"Oh no…the opinion stand is closed for the evening, fellows. You are on your own."

I hear their laughter and smile while pulling the peanut butter cup ice cream out. Of course, the container is promptly removed from my hands and set on the counter as a spoon magically appears. I get first scoop and then pass the spoon on; I know the ritual…yes, it's gross but it's my ice cream and it's better than listening to them go on about the virtues of sharing. Trust me. They might be terrible at it themselves but they can explain it and guilt you like nobody's business if you don't share with them. After everyone gets a scoop, I turn to Beds.

"So…ummm…do I want to know how you tested the lethality of your little gizmo, or am I just better off not knowing…?"

Beds winks mischievously and motions around the kitchen. "You did notice that a particularly pesky threesome is missing, right…?"

Everyone bursts into laughter and I shake my head. Of course… I guess now is a time that the threesome is thankful for the whole non-corporeal thing that allows them to simply (and many days annoyingly) regenerate in a few hours.

"Ummm…" Agravaine turns around and glares at his brothers who shove him forward. He's got a small plastic bag in his hand, which piques my curiosity. "OK…so we feel a little bad about the whole over-reaction thing…but not much mind you and it doesn't mean that we won't do it again or that any other characters are now welcome…we'll still run them off like the crying sissies they are…but, well…" He thrusts the bag toward me and backs away grumbling.

I smile. For Agravaine, that was truly a touching speech and came about as close to affection as the man gets most days. I admit, I am scared to open the bag but I take a deep breath and do it anyway. Laughing, I pull out the plushie Thor's hammer that even has 'Mjolnir' stitched on the side. Awww…they do love me in their own twisted little way… Looking up, I realize they've all vanished. Have I mentioned they don't do warm and cuddly really well?

Shaking my head, I put the ice cream back in the freezer and head upstairs. Setting Mjolnir down on the nightstand next to the bed, I slip into my so-called pyjamas and climb into bed. I curl up and reach under my pillow before sitting up with a shriek, sending the pillow flying across the room. There, underneath the pillow is a Thor action figure that has been dismembered…and a slip of paper with a smiley face.


	13. Family Interactions

**Disclaimer:** Yada, yada…no money, nothing, etc. I do happen to have sort-of stewardship of the two inserts in this chapter though…which is a frightening thing, if you really think about it

**A/N: **OK…so…Kallios this one is for you. You asked about interactions with my son and the Knights…so I decided to do some short snippets of when my family encounters the live-ins… Note that names have been changed to protect the innocent (a.k.a. my family). And this is a little different in that it's just a series of snippets in no particular chronological order. Hope you enjoy. And, as always, in the interest of rating you'll have to insert your own expletives…

* * *

My husband, Steven, walks into our closet and walks back out, staring at me as I dry my hair with a towel. "OK…who are the men in the closet and why is one of them fondling your leather skirt?"

"Oh…ummm…they're…uh…well you know those stories I've been working on…? Yeah, they're part of those." I peer into closet and assess the situation, waving to the small group as I call my husband over. "That's Lancelot, Arthur, Gawain and the one that needs to quit stroking my skirt is Galahad…"

Steven shakes his head and tells them to get out.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Honey…why is there a large man in the pantry with a box of pop-tarts under his arm and an open pack in his hand which is what I'm gonna guess he's chowing down…?"

"Gawain! Out of the pantry, damn you!"

My husband shakes his head and walks away, muttering.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Girls wear skirts." Ewan, my son, is matter-of-fact as he points at Galahad.

"I am not a girl and it is not a skirt. It's a kilt."

Quiet.

"The boy's right, you know…girls wear skirts…" Bedwyr just lives to antagonize Galahad. Not sure if this is the best example for my son to follow…

"It's a bloody kilt, damn you! Kilt, kilt, kilt!"

Quiet.

"Beds…what's a kilt?" Now I start to wonder if Ewan is just doing it to wind up the Pup as well…gonna have to talk to Beds later about setting a better example…

"Skirt."

"Mommy wears skirts."

"I think that might be one of your mommy's…"

Oh geez, really, Beds? Do you have to instigate like this?

"It's a kilt, damn you, Bedwyr! K – I – L – T!"

Wow…I don't know the last time I've seen Galahad's face so red with anger…perhaps it would be best if I intervene and keep this from going any further…before I can say anything, Ewan apparently decides this has become a spelling contest and he loves to try spelling things…

"S – K – ummm…" he tugs on Beds' arm and the old goat leans down and confers with him briefly before Ewan continues, "I – R – T!"

It really is rather cute and Ewan is truly proud of himself. I join the chorus of applause and laughter while Ewan stands there and beams happily.

"Fudge you all…damn people…" Galahad turns to stalk out but is stopped by another voice.

"Oh Gally-had…" Mordred. The poor Pup's day just went from bad to worse. "You've forgotten something, Pupster…" Dred holds up the swear jar and shakes it (thanks to this group the boy has a good start on a college fund), sending everyone into roars of laughter again.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Will you just take him…? I have to go get a new package of wipes…promise…I'll be back…"

Agravaine raises a skeptical eyebrow but takes the baby nonetheless, holding Ewan under the arms straight out in front of him. I roll my eyes and shake my head. Men. Really. Think it was a bomb or something. I am halfway back with a new package of baby wipes when I hear the exchange…

"What's he doing?"

"Why's he looking at me like that?"

Now noise begins in earnest, starting with Agravaine's tirade of curses, which is quickly followed by Bedwyr's cackling laughter and denial of something… Coming through the doorway, I am able to witness Agravaine hurriedly, but carefully, handing Ewan off to Mordred and heading into the bathroom. As he strides across the room, I realize his tunic is wet…oh lord, Ewan peed on him… Biting back laughter, I decide perhaps I should intervene since pee is usually followed by…

"Beds…why is he smiling like that…?"

Before I can warn Mordred that cradling Ewan in his arm to his chest is likely a poor idea right now, there is loud sound followed by my son's giggling. Honestly I do not think I have ever seen Beds move so fast nor Mordred look so utterly horrified as the substance leaks onto his arm. Agravaine was exiting the bathroom but freezes in the doorway in wide-eyed shock before he begins laughing…the sound of which makes Ewan giggle louder, thinking he has done something impressive and amusing to get the titan laughing.

"Come take your child…now…" Mordred is the only person not laughing now as Beds has added his peculiar cackle to the chorus. For some reason, this draws Ewan's attention and he reaches out toward the old instigator…who, wisely, backs away and shakes his head as another loud noise bursts forth from my son's less attractive end, followed by another…yeah. Have I mentioned how very, very unhappy Mordred is right now? I'm thinking the pears at lunch were most assuredly not a good idea…

I grab a towel and put it on the bed, motioning Mordred to set Ewan down which he does hastily and retreats toward the bathroom, muttering about needing a shower and threatening to wipe himself down with either of the other two's tunics.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"What's he doing?"

"How should I know, Galahad?"

Galahad shrugs at Gawain and goes back to cooing at Ewan who just stares at the dark haired Knight blankly and continues to make large "O's" with his mouth.

"He wants a binky – give him one for me, ok?"

Both of them turn quickly and look from Ewan to me, back to Ewan and then back to me.

"I…I don't…have…" Galahad is turning pink and stammering while Gawain is just staring astonished at me.

Dagonet sighs and rolls his eyes, stalks across the room and seizes Ewan from Galahad's clutches before popping the brightly coloured pacifier into Ewan's mouth. Shaking his head at the two Knights, Dag mutters and stalks out of the room cradling Ewan.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Babe…why…? You know what, just never mind. On second thought, I'm not really sure I want to know why there's glitter and feathers all over or why the bathtub is now pink…"

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"What are these?" My husband is holding a sticky note with scribbles on it.

"Oh…just variants on license plates since you said with the new truck I could get new plates." I smile my biggest, most flirty smile while batting my eyelashes as I watch him roll his eyes and laugh.

"I did…but, seriously…what are these? I mean, I get the couple of variants on 'gargoyle', but the rest…?"

I shrug. "That one's 'Mordred' and that one's simply 'Dred'…umm…oh, that one's 'Bedwyr' and then there's a couple of variants on 'Agravaine'…" My voice trails off as I realize Steven is staring at me and shaking his head.

"Some of the live-ins, I take it?"

"Ummm…yeah…"

Sighing he puts the note down and leaves the kitchen without another word.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Stop it!"

"You stop!"

"Stop!"

"You stop!"

"I'm telling!"

"MOMMY!"

Oh great. Just great. What the frig? I swear some days it's like having an entire tribe of little guys…

_**XXXXXXXX**_

I stop short and stare at the group that have gathered around my son's booster seat and are taking turns rubbing the top of his head. I guess I should mention that earlier today Ewan had his first haircut. I should also mention my son got my hair – at least in that it's thick and grows fast. Hence, he is about ten months old and already been subjected to the barber since various family members made comments during the last get-together about the length of his hair. Really offending the longer-haired Knights, I might add who…yeah…let's just say we left that party early.

Variations on 'what have they done to you?' are being repeated, as if Ewan will answer them. Of course, once they realize I am in the room, the focus turns on me and I am bombarded with the variants (and glaring accusations).

"Whoa…whoa…it's a haircut. Calm down. I'm not real keen on it either, but…" I shrug because it's useless to try to explain getting along and going with the flow to this bunch. Figuring there isn't much else to say, I continue on into the kitchen…and stop when I realize the baggie with the snippets of Ewan's hair is missing…

Turning, I realize why.

They are trying to stick the shorn locks to his head. I kid you not. They are actually trying to make his hair that has been cut off stick to the super short cut. How they're attempting this, I'm not exactly sure; I just hope it doesn't cost my son any more of his lovely hair.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like we're doing?"

"Well if I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to stick Ewan's hair back on his head…but that'd just be silly, right? Cause, I mean, everyone knows you can't do that…"

"Look at him – does he look like a happy baby to you?"

"Uh…yeah…he doesn't look terribly bothered by it… He looks far more bothered by the fact that you all won't leave him alone to eat his teddy grahams."

Growling and glaring, they back away. Later in our relationship, I'll come to realize this means they are going off to plot and strategize…at this particular moment I'm living in happy oblivion and so I just shrug and watch them file out. Except Agravaine. He seems particularly perturbed by this new development.

He walks over to Ewan and sighs before bending down so he is eye-level. Ever the cheerful fellow, Ewan happily offers him some grahams, which Agravaine refuses. Looking from Ewan to me and then back to Ewan he leans over, making sure he speaks loud enough so I overhear without effort.

"We'll get her for this…I promise you…she'll pay for inflicting this on you…"

_**XXXXXXXX**_

Sighing, for about the fiftieth time I glare at the group that just had to come along to the grocer. My husband has given up and just keeps moving, talking to Ewan and collecting things off shelves.

I, meanwhile, am trying to corral them from following the lady with the cartful of cookies, explain why our cart is not full of cookies, try to explain that free samples are not all-you-can-eat buffets and generally try to keep them under control. As we approach the registers, I realize we are short a few Knights…namely, Galahad and Mouse…

Heaving a sigh, I turn to the group. "Where are they?"

"Who?" Mordred tries to appear innocent – note the use of the word 'tries' because he fails miserably as he cannot keep the wicked smile from his face.

"At this point, I don't care…just go get them. Now." I watch them for a few moments and realize they are not moving… Making up something forgotten on the far side of the store, I ask my husband to grab a few more pieces of produce that we really don't need to stall for time. Grabbing Mordred by the elbow (the rest will follow if only to witness the carnage), I stalk toward the frozen food because my gut is telling me that is the place I should start…

"Ow. Hey. Don't bruise the packaging."

"Then tell me where they are…or, better yet, go frigging get them."

Snorting, Mordred points to the last aisle of the frozen section… As I round the corner, I don't quite know what I should expect – this group never ceases to amaze (or horrify) me with their inventiveness.

"Where…?"

This time it's Beds who provides the help by pointing down toward the end of the aisle. Where the frozen vegetables reside…and, apparently, are also where they stuffed both Mouse and Galahad into the freezer case…

"Get them out, now." I hiss at the group who have assembled and are laughing. Why didn't the two of them just get themselves out? Oh, because this group got really inventive and used some ribbon from the gifts/cards section to tie them up… Shaking my head, I swear that they will never, ever accompany me to the grocer as a group again.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Ummm…babe…something you want to clue me in on as far as what is on your mind? I mean, from what I can tell, I like where this could be headed…"

Confused, I turn and shrug at Steven. He's unpacking grocery bags…what the hell…? I cringe when I hear the muffled cackle from the breakfast area. Bedwyr. Godsblessed old instigator. No longer can I trust him to accompany me to the grocer, obviously. I already knew he could not be trusted at Target but thus far he'd been harmless at the grocer. Apparently this has changed… Making my way over to the bag that has captured my husband's fascination, I peer in and am horrified by the contents; however, this would also explain the look from the cashier… You know the look I mean. Oh, wait, you might not as you don't deal with this lot on an ongoing basis and the things they've been known to toss into shopping carts. It's a look that's a cross between 'aren't you ashamed to be making these purchases?' and 'wow, I can't believe you're making these purchases!'.

My husband sighs and the disappointment is clear on his face. "You didn't grab this stuff…" I shake my head and, if it's possible, Steven looks even more deflated before he brightens and he winks. "We're keeping it all though, right?"

Momentarily, I consider returning it until I realize that keeping it might just work to my advantage on many different levels…including making them vacate the house for a few hours at least. With a wink, I take the bag from his hand and saunter toward the stairs, making sure to pause and smile evilly at the now speechless group.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Why are we here?" Gareth is bored standing in line. And it's a long line that's hardly moving.

"It's Christmas, so we're going to see Santa and have Ewan's picture taken with Santa."

Skeptical eyebrows greet me as I sigh and shake my head. Why couldn't they have just stayed home? I mean, really, they don't need to go absolutely everywhere…

"And this is done because…?" Gaheris looks from me to Ewan to my husband before tapping on one of the excessively large and gaudy mall Christmas decorations.

"Because it's Santa and kids love Santa…"

"As the wailing indicates." Tristan startles everyone with his interjection as he turns his attention from appraising the animated deer briefly before going right back to sizing up the display.

"Look…it'll be fine. Don't worry and for gods' sake, don't injure or kill anyone."

"Maim?" Why does Bors have to pitch in his little 'helpful' suggestions at exactly the wrong time?

I shake my head and realize we are actually getting near the front of the line. Of course, the group becomes far more skeptical as we get closer and they can actually make out Santa.

Agravaine grabs my shoulder and hisses in my ear. "You're going to let that fat old bastage hold your son on his lap…where all those other germy, snotty, wailing children have sat? Are you out of your skull?"

I should explain here that Ewan was premature and, therefore, the first year of his life was spent carefully supervised so that his exposure to germs was limited.

Mordred chimes in my other ear. "He's right. What if this red-suited fat man tries something…?"

Smiling sweetly, I shake free and turn around. Oh, I might be looking sweet but believe me, my voice is nothing but venom. "Isn't that what you all are here for? Making sure nothing happens? So why don't you all go make yourselves useful and stop frigging bothering me?" Turning back around I note that Ewan is next and, much to my relief, he seems to be quite happy still.

Behind me I hear mutterings of "mean like a snake" and "returning that present I got for her"… Laughing to myself because it's all I can do to keep from either crying or exploding, I try willing them to just go away and if they can't do that, to just stay out of things. Including the photo; gods, please let them stay the hell out of the photo.

Finally – Ewan's turn and everything seems to be going well…he's not entirely trusting this Santa bloke, but he's also not wailing…at least not until Santa gives a good, deep, loud laugh. Then it's over. Ewan is wailing and reaching out for either me or Steven, desperate to get out of the red-suited man's arms. Steven takes him and starts toward the exit as I simply stand and wait for it all to come down cause you know it's gonna. You just know it. It's a given and done deal at this point. So might as well just wait…

Tristan, who has been trying to skin/disassemble the animatronic reindeers with a dagger, appears in a blinding flash of speed; Mouse pops out of Santa's sack and the Twin terrors high-tail it back down the fake snow-covered path they were shuffling up… Bors is yelling something about coming as quick as he can, though he is hindered by the string of lights he's trying to get rid of that he, Gawain and Galahad have been using to tie up Arthur and Lancelot under a sprig of mistletoe… The Evil Ones, aka Mordred and Agravaine, are brandishing their swords and threatening the poor mall Santa that if he comes near Ewan or the house…honestly, I can't even repeat the things they're threatening to do to him and his little elves too. Dag and Kay have come from gods only know where, but they do suspiciously reek of warm cider, to stop at my side and stare with me in horror.

I don't even know what to think at this point. It's bad, but yet I know it could have been much worse. They stalk off, each one snatching a candy cane from the jar near the exit of Santa's picture spot, to regroup. At this point I can only hope that nobody wants Ewan's photo with the Easter Bunny…

_**XXXXXXXX**_

Shaking the spray on suntan lotion, I wonder if Galahad will have the same reaction to this as he does the aerosol whip cream – he hates that stuff, says it's not natural and won't touch it. Needless to say, I make sure there is a can in the fridge at all times just for the express purpose of being able to tease him. Gods, I have got to stop hanging around Bedwyr so much…

As it turns out, I am not going to have to worry about that since the Pup emerges in his swim trunks slathered in sticky white suntan lotion…and eying the can in my hand suspiciously. Smiling, I wave him onward into the pool as I do with Gawain, who more topples in than climbs in.

Bors has been sent back inside to put on the assigned swimwear and I have revoked all his shopping privileges. Completely. A lime green thong is NOT flattering on anyone. (sorry to anyone whose lunch or dinner I just spoiled)

Dag and Kay emerge looking skeptical but each is willing to at least give it a try. Tristan disappeared hours ago, muttering something about stupid rules about wearing swim trunks. Mouse emerges next and waits for someone to toss him in. Realizing no one is going to, he shrugs and clambers in, seemingly delighted in having been allowed to find his own way into the water instead of being thrown. The Twins have been in the pool for hours with my son, laughing and frolicking and shooting each other with water guns… Mordred bursts through the doorway in his KISS ARMY swim trunks and I can only shake my head as he saunters past, sticks his tongue out ala Gene Simmons and makes his way to poolside. That means only one is missing…

Standing, brooding, in the doorway is Agravaine. Walking over, I decide that perhaps I ought to find out if there is a problem since he is still in his leathers…

"Umm…so…"

"No."

Well, that went, ummm, well, didn't it?

"Just give it a try…you might like it…"

"No." At this point he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me.

"Were they too small? I mean, I did my best guesstimation of sizes…" A cold glare tells me I might have hit on something. "Oh c'mon…what's the problem, Big Man?"

"They have flowers on them."

"Do not. I would never…" Oh, wait…they might have some weird abstract print that could be interpreted as flowers…damn. I'm about to try to find some sort of compromise when Ewan walks up, looking very innocent…which puts me on alert given who his examples are. Before I can say or do anything, Ewan produces a water gun, takes point-blank aim and squeezes the trigger, thoroughly soaking the front of Agravaine's tunic. Being a smart child, Ewan knows he needs to vanish while Grav is still in the stunned moment of realization…and he does…toward the pool. Now, between you and me, I have no idea what Grav was thinking, but the pool is the last place I'd have followed the boy… Grav, however, has not entertained that thought and takes off after the youngster.

My gut instinct proves to be accurate when I hear the yells and realize that they have managed to fill squirt guns and buckets and whatever else they could get their hands on and have now thoroughly drenched the large Knight.

Wisely my husband has decided to stay across the yard, pretending to be oblivious to the goings-on. Poor man. I bet he never imagined he was signing up for this demented mixture all those years ago when he said 'I do'…

As I am contemplating this, I feel someone grab me from behind. Oh no…no…no… I am yelling this at the top of my lungs even as I feel the water hitting my back and know that I have been thrown into the pool.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

As Steven, Ewan and I strike a pose outside Ewan's school for a photo on his first day of Kindergarten, I mask the groan as I spy the horde. They, of course, wave enthusiastically. They're so excited for this new adventure that they've devised a work/Kindergarten rotation to ensure that at no time are either Ewan or I without "protection".

For the first few weeks, all goes well. They, remarkably, show incredible restraint and manage to control themselves; I actually allow myself to relax and feel slightly confident that perhaps a "real purpose" was all they needed to get them to settle down…

Yeah. I'm a gullible idealist. And an idiot.

One afternoon I am at work doing, well, work when my phone rings. My work, gods bless them, sprung for a really excellent phone system and so via the caller ID I see it is my son's school… Initial panic sets in and I reach for the handset, losing my grip on it and juggling it in my haste to find out what has happened to Ewan.

Silly, silly me.

Well, OK. In all fairness, something has happened to Ewan – he fell on the playground and got a pretty good scrape and bump on his noodle. But, of course, that is not why the school is calling. Oh, no. They would've waited until I picked him up to tell me and give me the accident report.

Anyone want to take a guess on this? Anyone…? No takers?

Yes, it's about Ewan's conversation with his "bodyguards", who, I might add, have raised suspicions at the school, as to what exactly it is Steven or I do for a living. Anyway. I pack my things and let my boss know I need to go for the afternoon, telling him Ewan got hurt at school and I need to get him. What? Its halfway true and isn't a half truth better than a full lie? Or would you prefer me locked up in a loony bin as I try to explain to my boss about…them…? And let me just remind you, I get locked up, you get no more chapters in which my life serves as a warning of what these sorts are capable of…

I retrieve Ewan from class and pick up the "bodyguards of the day" from the curb, where apparently Ewan told them to wait.

"Ewie…baby…what happened?"

"I tripped. And hit my head." He's so nonchalant about it as he and Gareth share the small bag of chips from my lunch.

"And…?"

"And…it hurts…and…can I have a popsicle? Do you know that if you melt ice, it turns to water and then if you put it back in the freezer, it makes ice again?"

Ah, the Kindergarten attention span strikes again. This, coincidentally, is on par with the attention span of some of the Knights…which might explain why they get on so well.

We arrive at the house and Ewan is unbuckled and ready to hop out by the time I get around the car. Ushering Ewan into the house, I retrieve a popsicle and get him started on his homework while I glare and gesture toward the patio for the "bodyguards".

Outside, they are quick on the defensive.

"Before you say a word, the little…" Gaheris grabs Gareth and shakes his head before the older twin can really let loose. "She shoved him."

"And what did you do…?" Like I don't already know, judging by how worked up Gareth is just relaying what happened…

"Nothing…Ewan wouldn't let me run the little…" Again, Gaheris pats his twin's arm and shakes his head. "He wouldn't let me handle the problem."

"And that was very good of you to listen. Remember, we are trying to teach Ewan that violence is not the way to solve things."

"It could be."

"Gareth…it is not the way to solve things this century…"

"Have you told Bors this?"

Startled by this inquiry, I know the confusion is plain on my face as the Twin Terrors smirk and motion behind me. I turn around and heave a sigh. Bors is in my kitchen, crouching next to Ewan who has both his fists up and looks like he's about to punch someone.

_**XXXXXXXX**_

"Tie…what…what…?" Gawain furrows his forehead and looks from Ewan to Steven to me.

"Tae kwon do." Ewan repeats it very slowly and precisely.

"Right. Tie wand woe. Got it." Gawain looks around at the rest of the group who just shrug. "So, what exactly is it?"

"Fighting."

I note that Bors' ears perk up at this and I shake my head. "It's not fighting, Ewie… It's learning to defend yourself along with learning discipline and respect …but tae kwon do is not for fighting."

Ewan shrugs at Gawain and shakes his head before he assumes his kicking stance with a smile. "Want to see what I learned tonight?"

Laughing, Gawain crouches down before I can stop him and Ewan is only too happy to show Gawain firsthand what a triple punch is, yelling "TAE", "KWON" and "DO" with each punch, just as our Master taught us. The kid is a fast learner. Gawain falls back on his heel when Ewie pelts him in the chest with the three punches.

Shaking my head and laughing, I tell Ewie to go upstairs and change out of his uniform (it is white and he is almost six – and it's also a bit on the pricey side to be replacing). Nodding, my husband follows our son upstairs to change as well. Did I fail to mention we all enrolled in classes?

"And what did you learn tonight…?" Agravaine smirks and winks at the others who join him in jest because they know that, athletically, I am far from gifted.

I should insert here that although I am short (s-m-all as my husband likes to tease), I spent years in theater and took dance…so even years later, I am able to kick much higher than most people anticipate. I quickly assume my kicking stance and before he can think about retreating, I nail Agravaine in the shoulder with a roundhouse kick.

"Ow! That hurt!" He rubs his shoulder and glares at me.

"Sissy."

"OK smart arse…you come here and let her kick you…"

"Oh, no need to move…" I take a step back, spin around and with my other foot land an equally potent roundhouse on Bors' shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Aww…what's wrong, Bors? Did that hurt? Sissy." Agravaine mocks the pugilist as I simply sigh and roll my eyes.

"I'm going to change." Did I mention the uniform is white…? Yeah. Just because I'm well over the age of six means nothing… Especially with the way Bors and Agravaine are eyeing each other up and the rest are gathering around; I decide it's better if I just leave.

As I make it up the stairs, I hear Gawain yelling something about "Tae wand woe" and the others shouting about kicking people and kicking people's arses…before there's a clatter and commotion in the kitchen. Stepping into our bedroom, I eye up Steve and Ewan.

"How about going out to dinner tonight?"


	14. Vegas Vacation Part I

**Disclaimer:** You know. I know. We all know.

**A/N:** So…what happens when you go on vacation with this group? Even better, what happens when you go to Las Vegas with this group? If you've never been to Vegas, you should go but you should not take anyone from this group along. No matter how they beg, plead, bribe, etc. Just don't do it; let my vacation be your warning. And…I will not be held responsible for any trouble incurred by those of you reading this at work instead of working and causing a ruckus by disturbing your cubemates with your laughter. Or disrupting meetings.

* * *

_**Vegas Vacation, Pt. I: Getting There is Half the Battle**_

"What are these?" Bedwyr inquires, pulling the sheets of paper off the printer.

Fruck. There go my escape plans – I can feel them slipping away… For some reason, they are convinced that anything and everything I print is fair game for everyone's reading enjoyment. One day I'll figure out how to break them of that habit…but not today.

"Boarding passes."

"Boarding passes?" Bedwyr's eyes narrow and I nod. Damn, he's onto me…but then again, he hasn't said anything further so maybe, just maybe…

"Boarding? Does that mean that miserable little mutt is finally outta here?"Gawain's eyes light up. I should explain here that my mother has moved in and Gawain and her dog do not, ummm, they don't exactly see eye-to-eye you might say. Ever since the dog pee'd on his boots…and then his axe…

I debate my answer. I could say 'yes', disappear and they'd be none the wiser. However – and this is a 'however' of gigantic proportion – I would eventually have to come home and face them. Not only having gone on vacation without them but also having left them with the mutt. Double bad. As it turns out, I don't have to decide. Given a few minutes to intently study the documents in his hand, Beds has discerned they are for airplane travel (I used to travel a lot for business)…

"Thought this job was a 'no travel required' one…?" Green eyes get even narrower as he looks from the sheets of paper to me then back to the papers.

Fruck and frug and many other un-printable words go through my mind and I am thankful that my inner monologue seems to have corrected itself and is, indeed, internal only. Clearing my throat, I shrug and try to appear nonchalant as I make a grab for the papers.

"It is." I miss the papers that I lunge for when Beds raises his arm above his head. Damnit, why do they all have to be so godsblessed tall?

"Uh huh. Then what're these for…?"

See above for the tirade that again passes through my head; however, this time, multiply the intensity and the desperation by about a hundred. Before I can come up with a suitable response, Mordred and Agravaine come down the stairs and let me just say that they do not look happy. In fact, that is probably an understatement.

"What's the luggage for?" Mordred stops and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Going somewhere and trying not to tell us? Or, better yet, trying to avoid taking us along?" Agravaine has stopped about three steps behind Mordred and folded his arms similarly.

Beds, having had even more time to study the boarding passes chimes in. "Yeah…some place called Las Vegas…in fact, she and the husband leave tomorrow morning…"

Ever had that feeling of being a prey animal? Yes, I know, I ought to be used to it by now given the group and the myriad of things they've put me through in the past…but you never really get used to that feeling. By their smirks, I know that the Evil Ones (aka Dred & Grav) have already interrogated Steven and gotten all their answers…so now they're just toying with me; yanking my chain because it pleases them to watch me squirm.

"Where's Las Vegas?" Gawain looks highly disappointed and growls at my mother's dog through the glass patio door. Apparently he is more upset than I initially thought that the boarding being discussed has nothing at all to do with getting the damn mutt away from him.

"Far away from all of you." I mutter this under my breath, partially hoping they hear and partially praying they don't. Hey – you try living in my house and see how you feel after a few weeks…and a few explanations. This was supposed to stop after breaking Arthur's little heart about the Roman Empire, you know…

"Really? Far away from us? No such place exists, you know…" Mordred snorts as he laughs at my naïveté.

Sighing I know he's right. With that whole non-corporeal thing, pretty much even a different continent with plenty of ocean between can't even stop them. And I swear to gods at some point they embedded some sort of tracking device or something in me cause they always, always, always seem to be able to locate me. Always. It's the only explanation…well, ok, not the only explanation but I refuse to believe I have such awful luck. I mean, I did manage to win the tickets that will be carting me and the hubby to Vegas…first class, I might add. Yes, you may be jealous now. I'll wait.

Now, back to the problem at hand – they have figured out my vacation plans and, from the sounds of it, are embarking on some vacation planning of their own.

"Is it warm there?" Galahad bounces into the room. Gods, how did he find out about this?

"Very." I know that's an understatement for late July in Vegas, but really, if I tell them it's hotter than the surface of the sun…yeah, you know exactly where that will lead.

"Water?" Agravaine narrows his eyes and stares hard. The incident with the pool and getting soaked and…yeah…he just has not recovered.

"Swimming pools – yes. And, yes, we will be frequenting the pool due to the very hot temperatures." I stick my tongue out and retract it quickly lest Grav decide this is an opportune time to…oh, right, the muse just reminded me this is a PG-13 rated fic. You fill in the blank. By now you, dear reader, should be quite adept at finishing thoughts/sentences/filling in curses/filth laden innuendos/etc.

"Dogs?" Gawain looks hopeful as he turns to participate in the conversation, having had his fill of scowling at my mother's dog.

"No…probably not. And specifically, not the one you are currently engaged in a battle of wits with."

"And losing." My eyes widen and I stare in amazement at Kay who simply shrugs. "What? We all know it's the truth…."

"Women?" The Twins ask the question at the same time and immediately draw the attention of everyone around.

"Course there's women you idiots…she's goin', ain't she?" Ah, Bors…captain obvious decides to participate. Although, to his credit, he is correct.

"Why wouldn't there be women?" Gawain looks genuinely puzzled and scratches his beard, picking something out of it. Guess we'll have a bathing discussion prior to this vacation excursion. Oh yeah, I've come to the realization that there is no way they are going to allow me and my hubby to go on vacation without them…might as well just give up and make it as painless as possible at this point.

"No, moron, he…I…we…meant women as in women like Mardi Gras…" Gareth grins and wiggles his eyebrows in an amusing but yet incredibly creepy way.

All eyes turn to me expectantly. Oh lord. I can only nod my head and let my chin drop to my chest as the crew hoots and high-fives.

Wait a second…

"Hey – didn't you guys make a vow or something about not becoming involved with the…debauchery (that's a safe word for it) that ensued during Mardi Gras until, oh, about that time NEXT YEAR?" I cross my arms over my chest as all eyes now turn to Mordred. And, let me say, none of them are wearing their happy faces.

"That was…a mistake…surely there can't be debauchery on the level of Mardi Gras in this Las Vegas place…can there?" Mordred is trying desperately to save his arse. I can tell because even Agravaine looks like he's about to beat his brother senseless; if all he's got to look forward to are swimming pools and any potentially scantily clad women are off the menu, so to say…

Shaking my head, I try not to laugh; after all, Dred's been a pretty good ally through most of this. Except when he's leading the charge.

"None of us are Christian."

Did that just come out of Dag's mouth? Whose side is he on, anyway?

"And that figures in how, precisely…?" Mordred is intrigued by this lifeline that just might save his arse from being summarily kicked.

"Well, if we aren't Christian, any sort of promises or vows we made under the guise of being Christian would be null and void."

Ok. So Dag would be an attorney if he were alive and doing something this lifetime.

"Besides, Bors tried the praying thing and failed miserably…" Tris takes a break from slicing and eating apple to throw in his observation.

Mordred turns to me with a smile…a very evil smile…and yet again I know that I have been defeated and I might as well find out just how many bags fly free in first class. Cause I sense they'll have a lot of junk to pack.

Wait a second…

"Umm…you do realize that to get to Vegas you have to fly…on one of those awful metal contraptions that you loathe, right? And I swear to gods if any of you try to tell me the wings are ripping off, that an engine just fell off or anything of the sort…" As ever, I am not sure exactly what to threaten them with, so I hope that saying nothing will serve as an effective deterrent. No, I know it has never worked before, but let me keep dreaming, 'k? Some days the dream is all that keeps me from that padded cell.

Kay is the one who laughs first. What happened here? How did I lose my support? Oh, wait, that's right…even Dag and Kay weren't immune to the Mardi Gras influence and with the potential for even more Mardi Gras-esque shenanigans without having to wait another seven months…damnit. I raise an eyebrow and wait for Kay to stop laughing – as does the rest of the crew.

"We can simply blink ourselves to wherever…no flying machine needed."

Right. Crap. Had been kinda hoping they'd forgotten all about that non-corporeal travel caveat. Apparently mention some alcohol and some women and Kay's all in…even figuring out the easiest way for all of them to travel to these things… Go back a number of paragraphs for the tirade that crosses my mind but this time multiply the intensity by about a thousand.

Now that's been all settled, they start to chatter on about what to pack – since they're not flying, I don't even bother mentioning the TSA/security thing and weapons not being an approved carry-on. I mean, really, could you just see this group trying to make it through security? Seriously? You'd spend the entire damn vacation just trying to get them through the metal detectors, not to mention once they figured out what the body scanners are… This reminds me to go through the baggage one final time before checking it…no need to get yanked off the plane when they scan it and I've come to the conclusion my lifetime can be complete without appearing on a no-fly list or having a mug shot taken…and most definitely without having to explain to the nice TSA agent what certain items are in my luggage… Which further reminds me to go through my carry-on BEFORE attempting to go through the security lines; definitely don't need any "pleasant surprises" there either…

Chatter has progressed to laughter and joking; however, there's one distinct laugh missing. Yup, you guessed it – Beds isn't laughing, in fact, he isn't even participating in the chatter. Instead, he's studying the boarding passes and looking confused. Oh fruck, what now?

"Not to be a party poop…" Beds clears his throat and waves the sheets above his head in an attempt to get everyone's attention.

"Then don't. Besides, isn't that Galahad's job?" Mordred laughs and nods toward the Pupster who just scowls.

"No, no, Dred…that's party puke, not poop." Oh my Agravaine just cannot leave well enough alone. The group bursts into laughter – well, except Galahad and Gawain (though I do catch Gawain fighting back chuckling).

Bedwyr looks thoroughly disgusted and begins shouting. "Would you idiots listen? There are only two fricking fracking boarding passes! That means only she and Steven are going…the boy is being left behind!"

If you have never heard a room go from rollicking laughter to absolute silence, let me just assure you it is as odd and eerie as it you imagine it to be. Especially when every head spins in your direction and the accusing eyes affix themselves on you.

"Not taking Ewan…?" Dagonet raises an eyebrow and his stern expression becomes even sterner, if that is possible.

Ok, remember the rant from paragraphs ago? Yeah. You know the drill but this time I don't even know the magnification factor. It's huge though. Really huge.

"Why no boy?" Great. Now Kay is getting in on the interrogation. The only thing better would be if Bedwyr decided to go into full-on interrogation mode… Don't you be egging him on over there…you know who you are and I see you waving him over…the old reprobate does not need your help nor encouragement.

Sighing I run my hands through my hair. Crap I need a haircut but that's going to be impossible since there is no chance they are letting me out of their clutches now.

"Because, if you will recall, I won these tickets during my company holiday event and there are only two tickets. I called the airline…tried to barter and trade the two first class for three coach but they said no. They said they'd give me two coach class in exchange, which is sheer stupidity – I mean, really, why would I trade two first-class tickets for two coach…?" I pause when I realize they are not buying into this particular logic. "Look…I can't afford to fly Ewan first-class to, well, anywhere and I'd get a coach class ticket and then try to upgrade but you know what, with my luck, it wouldn't work and someone would get shafted and stuck in coach for a really long flight. And that sucks cause I've been there and done that. So…yes…it is just Steven and me going away." I try to sound authoritative and convincing but I know better because inside my own conviction is flagging and I am desperately trying to convince myself not to call the airline, switch the destination and do the whole coach ticket scenario.

"Right. So the boy gets the shaft having to stay home." Dagonet looks thoroughly unconvinced.

"Oh please. He's staying with grandma…like he's going to live in torture or something." I roll my eyes and resist the urge to smirk as an idea strikes me. "Though you guys might have to do some scrambling to figure out who's staying behind to, you know, play bodyguard…"

"Uther." Wow…that was a quick answer out of Tristan. Almost like he knew what I was going to attempt… I squint at the Scout who gives me one of his patented non-smiles. Yes, you should insert an expletive here.

"Whoa…whoa… Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, look at Arthur…" Even I am impressed by my quick thinking here.

"She's got a point." Gareth is taking my side? And Gaheris is backing him? I'm speechless.

Kay waves his hand dismissively. "Uther did not raise Arthur. In legend he gives the boy to Merlin and a foster family and in the movie he's, well, dead…"

Godsblessed. Yes, return to the rant… When did Kay turn on me like this? What have I done to him? Besides tell him that the basement is not his mad science laboratory and his fellow Knights are not his personal guinea pigs…oh, wait maybe that was it…along with erasing all those real-life medical docudramas off the dvr that the man seems to have become addicted to.

"Besides, he's a cranky old goat…he'd be as strict as you."

"Excuse me?"

Gawain shrugs. "It's true…he is and, well, you are pretty strict."

"Am not."

"Are." Great. Tristan decides to throw in his two cents again. Thanks, Tris. I'll remember this come Christmas…

"Fine. Whatever. It's up to you guys. I am not going to stand here and debate my parenting just because you guys think it's too strict. I mean, really, I have to look at who exactly is accusing me of being too strict and factor that into the relativity of the judgment being passed on my skills, now don't I…?" I mutter some unsavory words under my breath before smiling sweetly. "If you guys are perfectly fine with dear old Uther watching Ewan, then who am I to argue….? I mean, you guys know the man and have taken it upon yourselves to provide round-the-clock security for my son, so I can only trust your instincts and conclusion, right?"

"It won't work." Bedwyr gives me a dry look and then winks. "You can't use reverse-psychology on the people who invented reverse-psychology. It doesn't work."

I splutter. "You did not invent…" And I stop. This is pointless. I realize that when I see the smirks and smug looks on various faces they have simply been baiting me… Sighing I drop my head and rub my temples. I have a feeling I better pack the tension headache medicine because, you know, it seems pretty inevitable right about now. "I'm going upstairs to finish packing. You all do…whatever it is you do when you're not being thorns in my side…just go do that."

_**The following morning…**_

We've said farewell to Ewan and are pulling away. I'm only slightly comforted that Uther is standing behind him. I'm still not entirely sold on this security measure, but I also know I've got no say in the matter. It does make me feel better though that the group had a sit-down with Uther and told him in no uncertain terms that the Unholy Trinity was banished from the house for the duration. Shockingly, Uther had no issue with that; I have a theory that he dislikes his son most days as intensely as the rest and, further, that he harbours some suspicions about Arthur's lineage…but that's an entirely different story. Or, at the very least, an entirely different chapter in this out-of-control tale.

Back to the task at hand though: airport, security and getting to Las Vegas. In one piece. With baggage. And not landing on any no-fly lists or security posters or anything else.

We make it to the airport with plenty of time to check the bag; since the non-corporeal forms are blinking themselves to Vegas anyway, I told them they could damn well blink their own luggage too.

I can't believe things are going so smoothly…and then I look toward the end of the hallway. They are all clustered there, waving and smiling as they motion toward the security check-point. Far too eagerly for my comfort, I might add. Of course, this only makes me wonder what they might have somehow slipped into my bag…or onto my person that will send the TSA folks into overdrive... And, of course, I can't stop now and start rummaging through my bag – the TSA people can see me and that would only make me appear even more suspicious… I catch the smirks and laughter and realize I have, again, risen to their bait. Godsblesseddarn them! Vowing that this will be the last time they manage this trick during vacation (yeah, we all know that's a big fail waiting to happen), I stomp up to security and sail through without so much as an errant beep. My husband, however, not such an easy time since he wore a shirt with metal buttons and so they have detained him until they positively identify the shadows or whatever as buttons…which takes all of about five minutes and then we're on our happy little way again. Yes, happy because the non-corporeal forms have decided to vanish (for now) and I can only guess they'll be waiting when we land in Vegas…

_**T.B.C.**_

**A/N:** Yes…a multi-parter. Really, I mean, how can you expect me to fit so much vacation joy into one bleeding chapter? Look for Part II and quite possibly even Part III. Some highlights to look forward to include: a Cirque du Soleil performance; sunbathing; the Vegas "hottie handouts" as they came to be known…and much, much more.

"Are you done promoting the next chapter yet?"

"Yeah…cause, you know, we'd really like to get to writing it now…"

"But…I'm at work…"

"You would prefer we let Mouse demonstrate his mechanical knowledge with the train on the way home again…? Cause any delay for you just means more writing time for us…"

"Excellent point. Hang on and I'll be right with you good and kind and patient fellows…"


	15. Vegas Vacation Part II

**Disclaimer:** If I was making anything you'd know.

**A/N:** So…back where we left off. As a recap: Vegas, vacation for me and hubby, son at home being watched by grandma who is in turn be watched by Uther, crew is blinking themselves and their stuff to Vegas…I think that's about it. For now.

**A/N (2): ** Very sheepishly it has come to my attention that I reference a Mardi Gras incident but I never did post that chapter. Whoops. My bad. It was part of the Easter chapter that never quite made it to the light of fanficdom for assorted reasons. Would it be enough to say that they came home quite intoxicated, marveling about the "sights" of New Orleans (no, I do not mean the architecture) and draped with a plethora of beads? And that they promised…nay, swore, that they would not be indulging in such a way until round about Mardi Gras next year? Ok. Good. And, just for reference, Dag nixed that whole swearing/vow thing because, you know, none of them are Christians, null and void stuff… Good. Well, then, I guess forward with the Vegas foray then.

* * *

_**Vegas Vacation, Pt. II: If Getting There was Battle, This Must be War**_

"On behalf of your flight crew, we'd like to be the first to welcome you to Las Vegas. The temperature is 100 degrees, with a predicted high of 107 today. Our gate will be H8 and your baggage claim will be Claim 1."

Wow. We're here. And thus far, no sign of the crew…wouldn't it just be horrible if they, say, blinked themselves to a different Las Vegas? Hey, I'm a fic writer – far flung fits of fantasy are my forte. Try saying that five times fast.

Off the plane, to the tram and then baggage claim with still no sign of them…dare I get hopeful? Yeah…I didn't think I should either and it's a good thing I didn't; I really hate that feeling of having my hopes dashed and they would've been as soon as we got down the escalator to baggage claim… Yup, they were waiting, waving and laughing.

"What took so long? Sheesh…we've been here and back and here again a couple times…"

Gawain is so fortunate I was in first class and not crammed into coach or else I'd have to smack him. As I wait for the bag to appear, Steven goes to the hotel quick check-in to acquire our room keys and inquire about shuttle service.

"I'm guessing we ought to just blink ourselves to the hotel too…?"

"That'd sure be helpful since I am guessing that the shuttle is going to be kinda full…and kinda small for all of you and your…" I take a good look and furrow my forehead. "Did you guys even bother to pack anything?" Yes, I totally realize now how stupid of a question that was, but please remember, I've been on a plane for a little over three hours and it is very hot and, well, that's all I've got in the way of excuses.

"We did. And here it comes now…" Mordred grins and points to Steven's large Koho hockey bag as it comes around the corner of the baggage carousel.

"Oh my gods all I can tell you is that my clothes and Steven's clothes had better all still be in there because if they aren't…if somehow mid-flight you somehow in your twisted little ways managed to dump all our stuff…I swear to gods I will kill you all – slowly, painfully and torturously…" My whisper is just above a hiss as I reach for the hockey bag and pray they haven't somehow managed to do what I said because I have absolutely no clue how I'd explain that one to Steven…no clue at all.

"Can I order my death with extra pain…?" Agravaine winks and laughs as I glare darkly at him.

"Ooooh…if you're taking requests, I'd like to nominate that you make sure Beds' torture is less physical and more mental…and that you kill me first cause I don't want to have to listen to this one," Gareth shoves Gaheris before he resumes bouncing on the balls of his feet, "whine and complain like a little sissy."

I swear I'm gonna kill them all. I feel a death chapter coming on strongly wherein the Saxons or the Woads or maybe a bit of both kill them all. And who the hell already fed Gareth his daily quotient of sugar?

"By-product of the blink travel mode…some encounter slight problems adjusting…be thankful you aren't dealing with the Pup's problem…" Kay motions toward the men's restroom and I can only shudder as I try to imagine…

"He's dropping some friends by the pool."

Thankfully Kay handles smacking Mouse for me. I should also explain that the group has latched on to diverse slang references for various bodily functions. They are especially enamored of any that refer to, uh, fecal matters shall we say? That ought to give you a clue…if you're still puzzled…message me and don't say I didn't warn you.

By now Steven is back with the hotel room keys and lets them know what hotel and what room. Wait a second…whose side is he on? Before I can contemplate further, we are out the door, onto the shuttle and being whisked toward our hotel.

"Did you actually tell them…?"

Steven nods.

"Why?"

"Really want them hunting you through the streets of Vegas?"

Oh. Right. Good point. Mental note that I need to find out where they've implanted that tracking device…

"Easier to tell them than to watch them hunt you down and you have a meltdown when they manage to find you, which you know they will. Besides, how bad could they possibly be?"

Ok. I want you to stop right here and go back and re-read that last question from my husband. Go on. Because it will turn out to be the worst question posed this entire trip. I mean that is like baiting them to do stuff, y'know? Like you've thrown down the gauntlet and are awaiting their answer…cause I know that even though they aren't in sight, they heard that…and they're laughing about it wherever they are…

Which, it turns out, is crammed into our hotel room. Since I was not expecting to have additional travelers, I didn't book anything large – just a bed, a bathroom and maybe a little lounger – that's it, people. We're talking 500 square feet absolute maximum. And Galahad has already commandeered the bathroom…and nobody wants to be the one telling him to get out. Even Gawain has retreated to the far side of the room.

"Well…alright…I think you guys can find your own accommodations for the duration…so, uh, shoo."

"Can we…?" Mordred nods toward the corner where they've neatly stacked their weapons.

Waving dismissively, I nod and hope that gets rid of them…it does not.

Galahad emerges from the bathroom with a magazine and a puzzled expression. "Why do they call it the Strip? Strip of what?"

Of course, the mention of the word 'strip' coupled with the discussion last chapter of the, uh, potential wildness of partying has them all smiling and waiting on me for an explanation.

"Uh…the stretch of long, straight road on which all the hotels are built, I'm gonna hazard to guess." I repress the urge to smile as their grins fade and they actually become quite grumpy looking. Obviously not the sort of 'strip' they were looking for. Maybe if I can make it sound very mundane, they'll decide to depart before dinner (it's now only slightly past lunch); wouldn't that just be lovely? I might yet be able to salvage this vacation.

Too late I catch the smirk as Agravaine, Mordred and Beds flip through the city magazine that Galahad tossed on the lounger… They are nudging and winking at each other while the rest of the crew, curious about what has intrigued the ringleaders, gathers around. Then the pointing and smirking begins in earnest and I can only wonder what they've found.

"Uh…where's the ticket window?" Gaheris' eyes move from the page to me back to the page and then back to me.

"Gee…let me see…" I close my eyes and rub my temples as if in deep concentration. "Darn. My ESP fails me and I don't frigging know. Do I look like a damn hotel directory?" I pause and then my own curiosity gets the best of me when they wave Steven over and he smiles and shrugs. "What?"

"Oh…nothing… We're just going to go exploring…you know, find the ticket window…" Gareth can barely contain his laughter.

Seriously? I snatch the magazine and instantly locate what they are all giggling about: inside the hotel somewhere is a topless revue. I don't even know what to do or say at this point now that they've found out they don't even need to leave the hotel…

"Fine. Go explore but if you get busted by security for anything, and I do mean ANYTHING, don't bother calling because I have no idea who any of you are." They laugh and file out the door…well, more accurately through the door, but you get the idea as I stand there and shake my fist at their departing figures while continuing to shout. "I mean it…don't you dare call me…" My husband puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes his head. I think he's beginning to figure out that little question at the airport wasn't such a good idea after all.

_**A Few Hours Later…**_

It's been a few hours (and a few cocktails for me) since the crew disappeared and I'm beginning to think this vacation might not be half-bad after all… I mean, yeah, it's hotter than the sun in Vegas and even though there's a breeze, that's hot as well but it's a dry heat and though you may laugh, it really does…oh, who am I kidding? It's damn hot and that's all there is to it. Though I'm not at home and I have a tasty frozen daiquiri in my hand, so who really cares, right? We've called home for the second time (well, we had to call and let them know we arrived and answer Ewan's questions about the airplane), said good night and reminded Ewan to behave (I know, I know…fat chance)…so that means I'm done with parenting for tonight. I like this…I could get used to this… With a smile and contented sigh, I finish the rest of my drink and toss the empty cup into a trash bin.

"Dinner?" My husband is amused by my now semi-intoxicated state as all I can manage to do is smile, giggle and nod. I think the drinks before dinner might not have been such a good idea…oh well.

"Sure. Think that seafood place is still in New York, New York?"

"One way to find out…" Steven smiles and shakes his head as he grabs my hand both in a gesture of affection and to balance me since my gait has become a bit less than steady. Hey – it's hot; I've had a few cocktails and no food – cut me some slack folks.

We begin to make our way back down the strip toward New York, New York, which should be a pretty easy trip cause it's not that terribly far when we spy, or rather are spied by, the crew. Their eyes are wide with awe – never a good sign. And, yup, I manage to sober up real fast. Dear gods what have they discovered in the couple hours they've been "adventuring"…?

Before either I or they can say anything, Steven holds his hand up to prevent the onslaught of babble. "We're going for dinner and I am not going to have her standing here, talking to all of you and convincing people she's insane…at least not this soon in the vacation. Tomorrow – maybe – but not tonight. So, as I've heard her direct you in the past, go do whatever it is you do when you're not being thorns in her side and…ummm…hon, what else am I supposed to tell them…?"

"Sod off and no bellyaching. Oh, and have a good evening."

Steven isn't quite certain exactly what I've said, but he's willing to go with it cause it sounds good so he nods and waves at them as we pass. Unbelievably, they actually listen and we manage to spend the rest of the night undisturbed. I mean, they are waiting in the hallway when we return from dinner, but that's merely the first round of the overnight security detail since they simply nod as we enter our room.

Too easy, you say? Yeah…if I hadn't been half-in-the-bag, I'd have agreed.

_**Vegas…Day 2 is a Fresh Battle…I Mean Day…**_

Oh my word. Thank the gods we hung out the 'do not disturb' placard last night and forget about breakfast. Hello world, it's nearly lunchtime. Wow. Of course, the 'do not disturb' was merely for housekeeping, mind you. The others either didn't read or didn't really care what it said. Like you, I'm voting for the "didn't care" sentiment.

The shower is already occupied though since the bed is unoccupied there is a good chance it's Steven sudsing up and not one of the crew…

"Don't worry…it's the hubster in the shower." Mordred flings himself onto the bed and rolls over to stare at me. "We already took care of those things… Did you know they have an absolutely spectacular fountain at…some hotel…?"

"Bellagio." Agravaine looks up briefly from the map he's studying.

"No…Bellagio was the pond where Tris won the bet by proving there were no fish…" Beds jerks his head toward the still damp maned Scout reclining in the corner. "The fountain was at that other one…"

"The place with the boat things…" Gareth furrows his brow, only to have Gaheris smack him in the back of the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"That wasn't the place, you idiot. You're thinking of the boat races we had…and then Bors, Kay and I had the singing contest while you all paddled us around the canals…" Gaheris shakes his head and uses his finger to clear any residual water from bathing out his ear. "Which, I might add, according to those lovely, lovely ladies, I won…" Kay snorts at this assertion and Bors…well…I'm not sure what to call the sound that comes out of him at this point so we'll go with a snort just to be safe.

"Oh…right…right…" Mordred nods and scratches his stubbled chin. "I just remember it was somewhere kind of odd…we had to go down some steps and around a corner…but the lawn looked real nice. You would've loved the landscaping. Hedges and flowers and all sorts of statues…" He lolls his head to the side and smiles broadly at me, apparently not noticing I am not at all amused.

"Caesar's?" I only come up with this because I am racking my brain trying to think of hotels that are down in that general area of the strip. The boat races and singing must have been at Venetian. And since they didn't mention a volcano nor a pirate ship, I'm pretty confident it would be Caesar's Palace…which would surprise and, yes, shock me since the whole theme is Roman…

"That's it! They have a fountain or two down some stairs and, well, that was before we knew it was a Roman hang-out… Of course, once we knew that, well…" Gawain seems a bit too excited by this revelation and I'm not really sure I want to know why, but, you guessed it, they're going to tell me anyway.

"Oh yeah – I remember that now. We took a…" Agravaine catches my look and decides to stop and think for a moment before blurting something out. Yes, I'm amazed too but even more so when it finally does come out. "We took a potty break on their lawn."

"You did what to their what?" I sit bolt upright in bed and stare at them.

"What? It isn't as though we knocked down their statues or let Galahad…oh…wait…we did. Nevermind not letting Galahad do the, well, the Galahad thing… So it isn't as though we trashed the place. We just, you know, used the facilities…" Gaheris shrugs nonchalantly.

"Facilities that just happen to double as their lawn, mind you… And I suppose that includes the various small pools located throughout the landscaping?" I don't need to see them shrug and then nod to know I've asked a rhetorical question. Once they figured out it was based on the Romans, I'm shocked they didn't do far worse… "Ok then…so do we have that bit of mischief out of our systems then? We've taken revenge on our evil Roman overlords and we're all good now, yes…? We can continue the vacation without further incident, yes?" By now I am standing on the bed and waving wildly, much to their amusement as my husband, who has finished in the bathroom, simply stands in the small hallway and shakes his head.

"Hey…fellas…why don't we go get some coffee since there's no coffee maker in the room? Maybe by then things will have calmed down and…" Steven looks at me sympathetically and I resist telling him this is entirely his fault for that question at the airport about how bad they could possibly be… Because, really, between that simple, innocent inquiry and the universe's apparent unyielding resolve to make me crazy (ok, crazier), I think whatever the plot is, it just might be succeeding.

Ok. So, here we are and a few hours have passed. A few cups of coffee. A very good lunch and I feel better now. Plus, the group has decided to trail a bit behind us – covering our backs was what they called it, I call it whatever makes them happy and keeps them from asking me anything.

Glancing over my shoulder, I am suspicious as they all seem to be, well, in all honesty, I'm not sure what it is they're doing. It almost looks as though they are bartering with each other for something… I don't realize quite what it is until we cross another street and the guy tries to hand my hubby some cards. Suspiciously I turn around and watch the crew snatch whatever cards are held out in offering. Oh good gods…

"What're you doing?" I wait for them to catch up and step into their huddle of laughter.

"What? We're collecting 'hottie handouts' and determining who is able to collect the greatest variety, along with which ones have the best photos…" I'm not even sure who lets me in on the game and, frankly, I don't really care.

"Hottie handouts?"

"Yes. You know. Those little cards that the nice men…and a few ladies, though it is rather disturbing that women are handing out these nifty little cards with naked wenches on them…" Kay looks around at the group and seems relieved that he is not the only one who finds women distributing these 'handouts' to be a bit awkward.

Oh. My. Lord.

"It's even better because, look…" Galahad shoves one in my face and as I try to back away, he thrusts the card forward again, in case I somehow missed it. "They have their names and phone numbers so you can contact them. Isn't that just cool?"

Oh. My. Lord.

"Hey…just wondering…why don't your business cards look like this? You know, have a naked photo of you on them…?" Gareth is flipping the cards over, examining each one a bit too carefully in my humble opinion.

My husband snorts in laughter and suggests they enter that into my company's suggestion box; I, however, don't even know what to say. I mean, where you do even begin explaining that those are not business cards and if you call 'Mandy' or 'Brandy' or 'Kelli' odds are really good the woman on the other end looks nothing like the one on the card. As it turns out, I don't have time to say anything before the next question rolls into view and my husband first nudges Mordred and nods toward the truck before reaching over and smacking Beds in the shoulder while motioning to him likewise. I watch and, if I listen closely, can hear their collective jaws drop.

You see, rolling past is a truck plastered with what I would venture to guess is at least a ten-foot tall billboard of, you guessed it, mostly naked women (they do have those strategically placed stars) advertising "HOT BABES DIRECT TO YOU!" with a phone number…I figure I've got at least a twenty count before the barrage begins, so I find a shady spot and wait. While waiting, I ponder just when my husband switched sides in this little game; though I guess with something like that it would have been pretty impossible for them to miss even on their own… However, I also take a few moments to ponder making him answer their inquiries before nixing that since he's just proven I can't be absolutely certain whose side he is on currently.

"Did you see…?" Dagonet is the first one to turn to me, looking absolutely flabbergasted.

"Yes, yes I did."

"They were… You could call…" Gawain looks positively gleeful.

"And I will just about guarantee you that the 'hot babe' that shows up at your door bears very little resemblance to the one on the truck."

"You sure?" Agravaine looks suspicious and I know what the follow-on will be so I better just nip this one in the bud, so to say…

"No, I am not sure…but it's a good guess. And, before anyone even asks, the answer is no. No, you may NOT call the number just so you can find out and attempt to prove me wrong. And before you ask the other question, no, you may NOT call any of the numbers on your little collection of 'hottie handouts' and have someone sent up either."

"But…wouldn't that be false advertising and shouldn't they get in trouble for that?" Have I mentioned that Dag has spent a bit too much time studying the finer points of the legal system?

I shrug. "I guess, but I'm not sure exactly who you would take your complaint to…"

"Couldn't we call and just ask for her boss or a manager or someone?" Gaheris waves a card in my face that depicts a beautiful, buxom blonde with strategically placed stars.

"Those are not business cards for gods sake! Those are advertisements. Nothing more. It isn't like you're calling my office or anything. She has no desk and there is no receptionist for you to try to confuse with your phone hi-jinks." I shake my head and take a deep breath as my husband comes over and puts his hand on my shoulder.

Mordred is the first one to huff and toss his cards in the nearest trash bin, returning to stand in front of me and glower with his arms folded across his chest. "Thanks. Thanks a lot. First you ruin every single lingerie catalogue with your talk about airbrushing and implants and now…now you ruin this. Thanks. Just completely kill my enjoyment of this century…thank you very much."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to ruin things…it's just…you know…you have a right to know that what you see might not be what you get…"

"Hey…it's all right…" Agravaine comes forward to comfort his big brother, slinging his arm around Dred's shoulder. "We did manage to find that ticket window and found out the showroom is right there and, well, being non-corporeal it isn't as though we really need tickets…"

_**Hours (and many drinks) Later…**_

I can't believe I'm actually at a Cirque du Soleil show; I find it even less believable that I convinced my husband to attend with me. Although, I sense he was just as curious as me, even if he wouldn't admit it. We're at the show called "Ka" at the MGM…which is convenient since we're staying at the MGM (a very nice hotel for a pretty decent price, I might add – and, no, I am not getting anything for the endorsement). It's a lively show – a mixture of acrobatics and martial arts and I can't even begin to describe the moving stage pieces that…crikey, one of them just turned completely and is standing on end to replicate them climbing the sheer face of a cliff…

And then I feel the hot breath on my neck. I try to wave whoever it is off casually, but whoever is very persistent and just won't take the hint. Mind you, I'm in a pretty decent size theatre and so it isn't as though I can tell my new seatmate to get away from me – there's not an empty seat in the place. Though, again, non-corporeally should mean they don't actually need a seat…

I wait…tensely…but nothing is said. Could it be that the intruder is enjoying the show? Risking a look back, I see that they are all standing in the back, leaning against the wall and taking in the spectacle. They look positively mesmerized. Settling back into my seat, I enjoy the remainder of the show.

We get back to the room and I am on alert since there is no sentry posted. That doesn't seem right… Can you guess why? Yup. They're all inside…trying to figure out how the acrobats were able to bend the way they did and, even more so, how they do all those acrobatics. Steven and I enter in time to see Mouse go flying across the room, having been heaved by Agravaine toward the lounger – this is probably a good time to also explain that the lounger is in front of the window. And we are on the twelfth floor.

"HA HA! You lose! Pay up, baby brother…"

Agravaine is grumbling unhappily and actually has the audacity to shove Mouse as he makes his way past, asking him why he didn't manage to do the splits while in mid-air… Nevermind that Mouse hit the window with a resounding thud and asking if perhaps he is alright or anything…

"OK! I can't honestly believe I have to say this, but I will… Sorry to spoil the fun, but the Knight tossing is over. Finished. Complete. There is to be NO MORE Knight tossing in the hotel room." I think I hear both Mouse and Galahad give a quiet cheer of relief, but I'm not entirely certain. Not that it matters…I'm actually more worried about them breaking something in the room and me being on the hook to pay for it.

"That was a cool show. People flying all over the place and climbing stuff and fire and…wow…did you see those guys running and jumping and stuff on those spinning wheel things?" Gawain can be so endearing when he's all worked up and in his overgrown puppy mode. He's jumping around the room and talking so fast you can hardly understand him… "And can you do all those fancy moves with the kicking and the punching and the jumping and kicking combined and…?"

Galahad, for once the calmer of the two, pats Gawain's shoulder and shakes his head slowly. "Maybe we should go for a walk, Gawain…you know, walk off some of this energy…" Nodding at the others, Galahad pushes Gawain toward the door while mumbling good night to the assembly.

"So…ummm…you guys didn't actually leave the topless revue to attend the Cirque show…did you?"

They exchange looks of disbelief before bursting into howling laughter.

"Seriously? Us…leave a topless revue to watch some acrobats tumble around on stage? Did the sun bake your brain that badly?" Mordred wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "Well, ok…the Pup said we should leave but in all truth, after a while, they all begin to look the same…"

I'm quite sure there was more that Dred had to say before Bedwyr stepped forward and shook his head while whispering to Dred to shut his mouth. Yeah, I should've known better with this crew but, hey, I can hope, can't I?

"Oh good…now, as it's been said before, get out. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

Thankfully, they leave without argument…or without trying to give me a guilt trip. Just as I am about to latch the door, I hear Mouse yell an instant before I hear boots running down the hall…and a shout about there is a pond…a few of them, in fact and maybe a water landing will assist with him doing the splits…and that I never said anything about no Knight tossing outside the hotel room…

_**T.B.C.**_

**A/N:** Phew. And we haven't even gotten to the sunbathing/pool…


	16. Vegas Vacation Part III

**Disclaimer: **Still nothing.

**A/N: **Phew. I'm tired. But, of course, there is no surrender. Though I am starting to feel like a prisoner. And a warning – the lime green thong makes a guest appearance. Heed my words well or else don't blame me for the ensuing nausea and just remember, at least you didn't have to witness it in person. Twice. One final note – thank you to my lovely beta for this chapter, _Lycanus1_,who convinced me that it is good my life serves as a warning to others…and that this chapter didn't suck nearly as bad as I thought.

* * *

_**Fresh Battles and Even Fresher Hell**_

"What is up with you and the sleeping in? It's almost lunch… How do you expect to get anything done if you keep sleeping like this?" Gawain is bent over with his face inches from mine and for a brief, bleary moment, I contemplate biting him. But that would take energy on my part and, yeah, I've got none right now.

"Maybe she's sick. She does tend to sleep in when she's sick…" Awww….how sweet…Gareth actually manages to sound concerned. "Hey – somebody get Dag or Kay over here…think she's sick and…"

"No…no…I'm fine…I'm good…really…" Dear gods, not the healers. They'll foist something upon me and we all know that will end poorly. Have you ever had a concoction from the fifth century foisted on you? Let's just say flavouring was a HUGE leap forward in medical technology and leave it at that. I manage to make it to a sitting position as both Kay and Dag enter the room and appraise me. I smile and they confer quietly; swear to gods if they foist anything upon me I'm gonna kill Gareth. Luckily, they both shake their heads and shrug; apparently deciding that if I'm sitting up and smiling I must not be doing too badly.

"So…" Mordred sits on the end of the bed and picks at the coverlet. "What's on the schedule or agenda or whatever for today…?" He's not looking at me, instead choosing to focus on the coverlet that has become unbelievably fascinating for some reason.

Smell a set-up of some sort? Yeah. Me too. I don't trust Dred any further than I can fling him…ok, let me rephrase that since I don't honestly think I could fling him very far given (a) his bulk and (b) the non-corporeal thing that can make them very difficult to grab hold of when they want it to be. Let's go with this – I don't trust him to turn my back on him twice. And that pretty well goes for this entire group; yes, now including Kay and Dag since they've shown their true colours with this trip.

"Ummm…dunno…why do you ask?"

The group collectively shrugs and now I'm really starting to feel edgy. They've got something planned; I just don't quite know what. Luckily for me, Bors has a really poor sense of timing and before I need to query further, he bursts out of the bathroom sporting that tiny lime green thong and proclaiming his readiness for the pool… I hear Steven roll over, roll back and sigh before burying his face in the nice, fluffy pillows and groaning. At the same time, the others are raising very loud protests that Bors cannot accompany them to the pool sporting that abomination and crime against humanity, along with a reminder that the idea is to attract wenches, not repel them or make them violently ill (many thanks to Bedwyr for summarizing the core of the protests for me). Much to everyone's relief, after many minutes of shouting, Bors relents and returns to the bathroom to put on the other pair of swim trunks. Once he's done and approved, the others make their way in.

Steven rolls over and looks at me questioningly and I just shake my head, indicating he really ought to stay clear of the bathroom turned dressing room until they're done. It doesn't take long and they're all crowded into the room wearing their swimming best. Including Agravaine, which shocks me though I note he chose the second pair of trunks I picked up – a nice grey, black and purple plaid pattern that I have to admit, looks pretty damn good on him. Shaking my head, I snap out of my daze and catch the smirk on Grav's face; he knows exactly where my mind was wandering and now he's pretty confident of his chances poolside.

They're about to depart when I notice that Tris is sporting a towel…

"Tris…ummm…you have to wear a suit…there's no skinny dipping allowed." He scowls at me and shakes his head vehemently. "Look, those are the rules at home and those are the rules here." Again with the scowl and head shake. "What's the problem? I got you the trunks with the skulls and crossbones…"

"Not natural."

"And that's the point. Au natural is not allowed anywhere there are people. River by the house during the late evening or early morn – fine. People present – not so fine." Yes, I know that's a lie but I am not getting into an explanation about nude beaches right now, ok? Although, in retrospect, perhaps I should have…might have sent them all scurrying to locate one and left the rest of my vacation in peace.

"Tris…put on a blessed suit and let's go…sun and water and wenches are waiting…" Mordred's getting impatient now and that doesn't bode well for anyone. And no, blessed is not the word he used…he actually used a string of words that were more suitable to having his mouth cleansed with a bar of soap than including here.

At least Steven has wisely slid into the bathroom and locked the door. I'm quickly becoming a master of the five-minute shower and go – no need to dry the hair since it's so hot here it dries in like a nanosecond anyway when you step out the door. Rolling my eyes, I resolve to stay out of their debate as they try to force Tristan into swim trunks. At some point they succeed and before I know it, Tris has dropped the towel and shimmies into some trunks. Now that everyone is in pool approved attire, they snatch the can of sunscreen and off they go. Thank gods.

_**Hours Later…**_

Wow…who knew the day could be so peaceful? I have to be honest, I figured they'd get bounced from poolside within about fifteen minutes of their appearance and I'd have to listen to their protests and whining and keep them from invading ponds and fountains, but that doesn't appear to have been the case. And, yes, I had planned to spend some time poolside as well but with them there it just doesn't seem quite so appealing… So the hubster and I spent the day together, alone; we strolled the strip, had lunch and spent the majority of the day people watching and window shopping. Now, as we approach the room I have that horrible sensation in my gut that things are dreadfully wrong. Turns out, I'm right.

We enter the room to the sight of Knights strewn about, moaning and cursing each other. I'm not sure why until I hit the light switch. Oh my gods. Did they not use the sunscreen I supplied? Galahad looks like Rudolph's red, shiny nose and though I think he's the worst, I am forced to re-evaluate my conclusion when Bors emerges from the bathroom looking like a freshly boiled lobster. My dumbfounded state is broken when I hear Steven behind me.

"Uh…babe…"

He's in the bathroom doorway and looks very concerned. This does not bode well. I approach the door with much trepidation and find I was right to do so…naked, splayed out on the cold tile of the bathroom floor is Gawain. I can't even think of an accurate colour description so let's say vivid scarlet and leave it be. The contents of my beauty bag and Steven's shave kit are scattered about, like someone ransacked them… As I move closer, I hear Gawain rasping something…

"Aloe…need aloe from fridge…"

Yes, I keep my aloe gel in the fridge – try it, you'll like it. Well, ok, the person you spread it on might not care for it much, but I assure you a thousand times over, you will enjoy it. Especially if the aloe recipient happens to be a Sarmatian Knight who did not heed your sunscreen advice and now looks like he went bathing in a large tub of red Kool Aid.

"Gawain…there is no aloe and no fridge here. You're pretty well outta luck." I manage not to laugh as he raises his head to look at me. Sorry. I know it's cruel but really…I bought SPF 80+ sunscreen and it isn't my fault they don't use it.

"Leave me to die then…" He whispers his request half to me, half to the tile of the floor beneath him as he lays his cheek on the cold surface and closes his eyes.

So melodramatic; I am proud of myself for resisting the urge to call him a drama queen. "You're not going to die. You're just going to spend however many hours until you regenerate wishing you would. Oh and please try not to make too large of a mess on the bathroom floor…why don't you crawl into the tub or something – at least that way I can wash whatever oozes off or out of you down the drain…" I know, not real helpful but really, can you blame me? Again, I reiterate – supplied sunscreen in SPF 80+, not my fault they didn't use.

Shaking my head and laughing, I return to the living area and, gods help me, I give in to temptation and smack Agravaine on the shoulder and each of the Twins on a leg, laughing quietly as the white of my hand print fades to match the red of their skin. Mordred wisely moves out of my reach.

"Good day, eh?" I can't hold it in any longer and bust out laughing. "How many pools you get thrown out of on your quest for the perfect level of sun burned crispiness?"

"All of them, I think…" Kay is one of the more coherent of the group and, apparently, one of the few who listened (mostly) to my words a few weeks ago about sunscreen application. I say mostly because although he might have heard the instructions about initial application, he apparently didn't hear the part about needing to re-apply it every so often, especially if you are in the water, no matter what the product says about being waterproof. So although he's a bit red around the edges, he has managed to acquire a fairly nice tan instead of the, uh, glow of some of his companions.

"OK…so…I'm thinking you might want to blink yourselves to wherever it is you go to regenerate and whatnot…"

"NO!" The Pupster's shriek is immediate. "NO blinking. Blinking bad." To emphasize the point, he turns to me and oh dear gods, he is right. Even the poor boy's eyelids are horridly sunburned and beginning to swell. Again, I know it's wrong but I find myself choking back laughter. I should note that by this point, Steven has excused himself to go to Starbucks and grab a couple of frappuccino's…and it should also be noted that (a) Steven despises Starbucks with a passion and (b) the only thing he might despise more than a hot cup of Starbucks is cold/slushy cup of Starbucks. Draw your own conclusions as to how he thinks this is going to end up.

"Well…ummm…" I tentatively approach Bedwyr, who also appears to have at least partially heeded my advice about sunscreen. "I know it's asking for a lot, but would you be so kind as to blink yourself and the Pup out of my room? And would someone else please help the mighty sunburned one out of the bathroom and to…somewhere…to die…I mean regenerate?"

Beds looks unhappy but he nods anyway. That is nice, though I know he'll extract some price for this kindness later, as has been proven in the past. Slowly they all dissipate into wherever it is they go when they're being non-corporeal. And since the moaning from the bathroom stops, I'm going to assume someone was kind enough to blink Gawain out as well. That or he is dead. Either way, I'm quite sure he'll be fine by morning.

If there is one good thing about all this, it is that my husband and I get an entire night free from their tagging along, commentary, questions and everything else. Ah, bliss thy name is sunburn.

_**Refreshed – Them, Not Me**_

"What is that?"

"What is what?" I turn my head and stare blankly.

"That." No less than five index fingers waggle in front of my face as they crowd around and point.

For the love of…

"Excalibur. And, seriously, how could you not have noticed it until today? It's a huge white castle with red and blue flags everywhere. I think you all need eye doctor appointments when we get home."

"Ummm…"

I decide to spare Gareth the embarrassment of his query. "It's a themed hotel with, you guessed it, Knights."

"And Arthur…?" Mordred raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"Nowhere in sight."

"Good. Let's go." With that, they begin dragging me across the skybridge toward the hotel in question, chattering all the way amongst themselves.

"There's a show here too – it's called 'Thunder from Down Under'…could be good…" Galahad is reading a local tour book that, I am going to venture a guess, does not include detailed descriptions or pictures.

"Uh…no." Steven answers before I can even get a good laugh in.

"Why?"

"It's a male revue." Spoilsport Steven. I think that's what I'm going to start calling him for ruining what might have been my solitary chance for fun at their expense today.

"And…?" Galahad is struggling to comprehend just why that it so very wrong.

"Remember the female revue was topless women…" Steven motions with his hand in a kind of 'follow along, piece it all together motion'… I know who follows the logic and who does not by how wide their eyes get. Followed logic list includes Mordred, Agravaine, Bedwyr, Dag, Kay, Mouse and Gaheris. Didn't follow logic list is the usual suspects – Galahad, Gawain and Gareth. Uninterested list – Tristan. Like that's any surprise.

"For crimeny's sake…it means the revue is pantless men." Dagonet sighs and shakes his head as we all watch with amusement as the logic finally registers with the three.

Rolling my eyes, I decide we should get on with entering this hotel already. I just can't wait. Can't you just feel the enthusiasm exuding from me? Yeah. I'm thinking this is going to be absolutely spectacular and, yes, you should insert an expletive in the middle of that word. Wow, the more I am around this crew, the worse my mouth gets. I'm going to be sucking on a bar of soap soon if I'm not careful.

We make it through the entrance and they step forward, waving and shouting various greetings which are, basically, some variant of, "Hail our Knightly brethren…" The words, however, don't quite come out like that because about five steps in and halfway through their shouted greeting, they stop dead and stare at what greets their eyes. Instead of the expected heavily clad, battle tried Knights, they are met with, well, as they call them 'prettified' Knights; shirtless men who are nicely tanned, toned and slightly oiled wearing very thin suede vests and very tight suede breeches. Their hair is nicely combed (I think at least one of them colours his hair, but without being able to collect absolute proof, I'm gonna have to give him the benefit of the doubt) and their boots have likely never seen the inside of a stable.

One of said 'prettified' Knights approaches me and before I can duck and run (a tactic I find most helpful in saving the lives of well-meaning sane people), I get shoved back and am staring at the backs of my Knightly escorts and protectors. For some reason, this deters one but not the other 'little pretty' as they will come to be known, who makes the mistake of trying to step around Mouse. Now, granted, Mouse isn't the most physically intimidating but I will say this – don't ever underestimate him. I grab his tunic before he can clip the man at the knees and send him reeling down the stairs. Of course, this only serves to get the others' attention and now I need to get them away from this pair before we end up with another Christmas-at-the-mall type episode…

I back away and shake my head, dragging a now growling and snapping Mouse by the shirt. And I do literally mean snapping as in if he could bite the man, he would. Luckily this draws the rest of the crew away as well before anyone else gets any ideas or, quite frankly, gets me thrown out of the hotel. Thank gods at the last minute I had a moment of clarity and decided against booking our hotel room here.

I shove Mouse down a semi-empty hall way and glare at him. When the others catch up, I rub my temples and hiss. "Would you all just knock it off, please? For gods' sake, we're in public and they meant no harm. Really. Just…stop. Cease. Desist. Quit. Halt. Whoa." I think I've exhausted every way I can think of to tell them to knock it off…

"So…ummm…where are all the real Knights?" Gaheris looks around curiously.

"There are none. It's make-believe. Fantasy. Not real." I resist the urge to tell them this is much like them and the 2004 movie from which most of them sprang because we just really don't need to go down that path right now.

"Oh." Yes, that is a collective answer and, yes, they do look somewhat disappointed because of this.

"So…just…put your weapons away and please, please, please…gods I am begging you, just for once play nice, ok?"

"Are you going to cry?" Bedwyr stares at me and, for some reason, appears to be growing angry by this possibility.

"No, I am not going to cry."

"You are. I can see it. And it's all the fault of those goshdarned fakes out there…" Agravaine is working his way back to furious and you know him well enough by now to know that 'goshdarned' is not what came out of that potty mouth of his. It isn't even the only thing that came out of his mouth but I don't have space or imagination enough to create substitutes for his creative litany.

"No, I'm not. But I might if all of you don't settle down and behave. Dear gods, please just b –e – h – a – v – e. Behave."

This prompts a meeting of the minds and it seems a bit of an argument as Mordred shoves Agravaine who shoves him back…before Kay steps in and gestures toward me. Nodding, they all head back toward me and Steven, who has stood back exhibiting his usual infinite patience with this crew and me.

"Alright. Here's the deal. We'll behave if – and we do mean IF – we can, at some point, come back and mess with the 'little pretties'." Mordred crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at me.

"Fine. You can do whatever you want to them – short of killing or maiming them," I add that in when I see their eyes widen and sparkle with delight, "until your little hearts are content when neither I nor Steven are in the vicinity. Deal?" I watch them debate this offer, as does Steven.

"You guys might want to take it cause the other option is to lock all of you in a closet and not let you out until we're ready to leave. Your choice." Steven shrugs and looks decidedly unfazed by it all. Oh dear lord, what have I put this man through that he now regards this as ho-hum and everyday…?

I am shocked when I hear the mutters of agreement. What? How on earth…? Seriously…? He threatens to lock them in a closet and they get all compliant? What the…? I could've threatened them with eternal banishment to a dark and remote corner Hades and they would've laughed….well, at least until _the_ Hades, Lord of the Underworld, showed up; then they would've at least stopped laughing – at him, not me. I have got to remember this. My secret weapon, thy name is Steven.

They trudge along behind us, very unimpressed with the surroundings now that they have been told they cannot run amuck and cause general chaos. Or mess with the various 'little pretties' that cross their path. Even my offer to take them to the jousting dinner show thing only gets a shrug and a 'why bother?'…

We make our way to the next hotel, Luxor, when a commotion arises behind me.

"We…ah…forgot something…somewhere…but not in this hotel, mind you…cause of the whole closet locking thing and, uh…yeah…"

Sighing I shake my head. "Just go. I don't want to know about it. I don't want to hear about it. I just don't want any part of it. And for pity's sake, don't get caught, all right?"

"Oh sure, sure, sure… Gotcha, you know nothing and we don't get caught. Sure…no problem. Pulling the plausible deniability card – nice." Mordred winks and smiles before sticking his tongue out at me and I utter a quick prayer for the 'little pretties' as I sense their day is about to get a whole lot worse.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. I do note a distinct lack of 'little pretties' when we pass back through Excalibur…and I say another small prayer for their well-being.

By now it's headed to dinner time and, yup, you guessed it – the crew re-materializes just in time to inquire what food stuffs are we gorging on tonight… That is the way they phrase it. I kid you not. Well, except for Gawain who asks what grub is going in his maw to satisfy the rumbly in his tummy. Hey – Pooh was one of Ewan's faves and since Gawain likes a good bedtime story as well…it's kind of unavoidable. Look, just be thankful they aren't reciting Dr. Seuss – and making up their own Seussical rhymes.

"Actually, we were thinking of going for a nice, quiet dinner…just the two of us…" Steven tries the gentle approach.

"Actually, we were thinking some pizza would be good." Mordred narrows his eyes. "And don't go trying that 'lock you in a closet' threat again…she can tell you all threats are good for one turn, max and then they become null and void."

"OK…so how about a compromise?" Steven gives me a confused look and I pat his shoulder. "How about we head down to the Cabo Wabo Cantina?" I wink at Steven who has now begun to follow my logic. There were these drinks that they serve in these enormous plastic guitars…if we get them each one of those…you see where I'm going with this little plan… Luckily the boys recall the guitars without catching on to the plan and in the time I have explained all this to you, they have already shouted agreement and are racing down the hall yelling that they'll hold the elevator but we better hurry.

_**Not the Best of Ideas**_

Oh my frigging fragging gods.

Last night did not go as planned. At all. I think there is an elephant sitting on my head and, barring that, I feel fairly confident one of larger sized Knights is. Now I recall why I do not drink tequila. Or any drink made with tequila. Or much of any drink at all, come to think of it.

I hope and pray today will be quiet. Really and truly. I hope that they drank enough to keep them at bay for a while. At least until I can get this elephant off my head, ingest some pain killers and shower. Unbelievably, it does happen. They manage to stay away until at least mid-afternoon. From their smiles, I can take a wild guess how they've passed their morning (hint: still no sign of the 'little pretties' when we wandered through Excalibur a little while ago).

"Did you know they have horses?" Galahad points excitedly to the hotel behind him.

"Yes…what did you think they rode for the jousting tournament I tried to talk you into the other night…?" I realize my mistake the moment after the words have left my mouth.

"Can we go?" Gawain really does have that puppy enthusiasm down pat.

"No."

"But you were ready to the other night? Come on…what's wrong?" Galahad is on the verge of an almighty strop as it's been termed.

"I've had some time to think and I think it'd be best if we stayed away. For everyone."

"But they're fake. You said so." Gawain is perplexed but no less enthusiastic.

"Yes…well…it doesn't matter cause we aren't going and that's final." I cross my arms though I know I look not even a fraction as intimidating or as convincing as Agravaine, Mordred or Bedwyr manage. Still, I hope it's enough to dissuade them…

"Ok." Mordred shrugs and begins to walk past me as the others do likewise…well, except Gawain who now is wearing 'wounded puppy' face and Galahad who is still teetering on the edge of a strop that he isn't sure he wants to throw if his only audience will be Gawain.

Wait a second. That was far too easy.

"What're you up to?"

"Nothing. Just if you don't want to take us, then that's fine. We understand. It's all right." Mordred puts on his own 'wounded puppy' face as he turns to me.

"It won't work. We still aren't going. Besides, we have one of those close to the house, along with the Renaissance Faire coming up, so…" I am pretty certain my mouth hangs open as I realize what I have just shouted at them.

Bedwyr leans over and smiles. "As you've said, three guesses where we're going when we get home and the first two don't count."

Laughing and singing some bawdy drinking song that causes people to raise their eyebrows (and their drinks), the crew begins to meander down the strip. While they do that, Steven grabs my hand and slows his steps. Those goons haven't even noticed that we've stopped.

"Now." Steven whispers in my ear and we turn and walk as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. We have no idea where we are headed, we just know it is anywhere that they are not. Thankfully, there is plenty of action, amusement and bright shiny lights on the strip as the sun goes down to amuse even that lot of characters.

But, as it was once famously said, tomorrow is another day.


	17. Vegas Vacation Part IV

**Disclaimer:** Still not making any money from putting my life on display for the warning and amusement of any and all.

**A/N:** So we've arrived at the end of the Vegas Vacation Tale. I would like to say I'm relieved but between having to return home to gods only know what and whatever final surprises they might have in store for me…

* * *

_**It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over**_

Can't believe we actually managed to shake them on the last night of vacation. I figured they'd be stuck to us like glue but no…Which is a good thing, mind you. Especially since I have to keep reminding Galahad that I do not want to know what sort of things befell the 'little pretties'. I tried to explain plausible deniability to him but gave up when Beds leaned over and reminded me of the whole 'me-in-team-doesn't-count' debate that, to this day, Galahad still does not comprehend.

Finishing up packing, I sip my coffee. Shockingly one of the hotel Starbucks has proven to be the best cup of coffee around and, yes, both Steven and I have been forced to admit that fact. Believe me, it was far more traumatic for Steven than me…which serves him right for spoiling my fun with the male revue explanation from last chapter. Oh, I haven't forgotten…trust me…

Anyway. I go about my business as I continue to sip my java. You see, I have a slight touch of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and so it is always my "job" to do the final hotel room check because, shamefully, I will be the one who will open the same drawer five times just to verify that it is indeed empty. And, yes, I do mean five times in a row… Just like it is my "job" to do the final luggage check to make sure it's all packed and orderly and…yeah.

The crew is hanging around doing, well, nothing. They've collected their weapons and could blink back at any time (which, yes, I am hoping they elect to do sooner than later). I finish up fairly quickly, leaving myself enough "panic time" as the boys call it between now and the time we have to catch the shuttle to the airport, when I walk past Gawain, Galahad, Gareth and Gaheris and catch something about time for one last visit with the 'little pretties' and if the one who squealed like a six-year-old girl is working again today… And I shake my head and pick up the chant of "I heard nothing" alternating with "plausible deniability"…They've got plenty of time since the whole blinkage thing only takes, well, a few seconds or however long it takes to blink. I'm actually not sure since they tried to explain it once and I'm fairly certain even Stephen Hawking would've been unable to follow – not because of the complexity but because of the fact that eight of them were trying to explain the same thing…at the same time…

Anyway. I give the final "go ahead" and we're out the door…which, Steven knows me well enough to know to stick his foot in because about three steps down the hall I will turn and he'll have to assure me that we do have everything…the foot is in case he isn't convincing enough and I have to go back in and assure myself. Remarkably (considering how wonky this crew has managed to make me during this), we get under way without me having to do that.

"Where to now?" Mordred tries for innocent nonchalance and misses it by a mile.

"Airport. You guys can just blinkage yourselves home and we'll see you when we get there."

"Oh hell no. You think we're going back there and deal with Uther on our own? Are you nuts?" I have to give Gareth credit; at least he doesn't mince words nor make you guess how he really feels on some topics.

"Oh come on. It can't be that bad…can it?" I have to admit, a bit of panic creeps into my gut. I mean, if they are feeling like this about having left Uther in charge coupled with the fact I'm pretty sure they blinked back a time or twelve to check on things… Well at least the flight back is first class again, so I've got a chance to somewhat enjoy a bit of peace before facing the unknown.

They look at each other and shrug before Dag suggests blinking themselves somewhere to get some breakfast and lay out the plans from there. With a wave, they do just that and I'm left wondering just what they've seen or heard during one of their excursions back to the homestead…and just what these "plans" that they are laying out entail… Yes, I am not too proud to admit that they've succeeded in making me very worried. And I have plenty of time to worry as the shuttle to the airport is running a bit late.

I'm fairly certain we're alone at the airport until I spot (or, more accurately, am spotted by) the crew milling around by the ticketing counter. You see, they know I need to check the hockey bag and being as I cannot find a self-service kiosk…oooh…at least the line for first class/priority is short. I'll pause while you direct your hate my way but do recall, I won the tickets so it isn't like I sold some piece of writing and made a cowchipload of money. So…they are waiting and so am I when a woman steps in front of me… I know, I know. And yes they did take a collective step forward until the ticket agent told the woman very loudly that she was in the wrong line and this was for first class or priority passengers only. She then pointed the woman to the back of the line the woman had just left and motioned me forward; when she asked if we were in the correct line and were first class or priority tickets holders, you've no idea how loud I answered "yes, yes we are." Truly, if you can ever manage, I highly suggest – it was so smugly satisfying that even the thought of it now makes me smile.

Anyhow. So we've checked the bag and now have to face the large obstacle: airport security. I try not to imagine all the various things they could've somehow snuck into my backpack because it will just freak me out way too bad. Thankfully Steven spots that McCarran does have a separate security line for their first class passengers and he herds me toward it before I have time to hyperventilate with my thoughts of what the x-ray might reveal… I hear them boo-ing him and, well, let's just say Steven retaliates with a very family un-friendly hand gesture that apparently stuns them not only into silence but blinkage, because that is the last peep I hear from them until we land at O'Hare.

They are waiting at the gate and even though I try to walk really fast, I am unable to shake them. How on earth did they make it to the gate anyway? You've got to go through security to get this far…

"Non-corporeal. We go anywhere and everywhere." Damnit, I hate when Beds reads my mind like that. It's very creepy. And worries me that he might read it at the wrong time…

"Vince Vaughn was on your flight!" Galahad points excitedly as the tall, thin man makes his way past. I refrain from sarcastically asking Galahad if he wants the man's autograph cause we all know how that would go… Instead I just shrug and keep walking toward baggage claim, trying to convince myself that it's almost over and we'll be back to everyday craziness soon…

Finally we have made it home. Ewan is waiting by the front door with a sign that reads 'Welcome Home Dad & Mom'. You can say it with me – awwwww. So sweet that I nearly miss a very perturbed looking Uther standing a short distance behind the boy. Oh lord have mercy, what is the old grump even grumpier about? I wave him off as I am far too interested in getting the scoop from Ewan than an old cantankerous Roman fart. Of course, Ewan is very excited and wants to know all about Las Vegas and why he couldn't go (see, he gives me enough guilt for the tickets, no need to give him an assist from the gallery). Then he unzips and starts rummaging through the luggage for what we've brought him. Because the oversized M&M container from M&M World (four floors of M&M goodness, I kid you not) is not nearly enough. And he knows us and, yes, he is an only child and spoiled. Deal people.

It is much later when Uther catches me upstairs to express his…dislike for and disapproval of the weekend activities. Apparently Ewan went to stay at his cousin's Saturday night and while there played a video game that is highly inappropriate for his age group. I question Ewan and then let Steven know while trying to mask my smile (cousin belongs to auntie who is Steven's sister – washes my hands of it entirely – score!).

By now it's really getting late and I'm tired – imagine that…a few days of vacation with the interlopers and I'm worn out. Who would've thought, eh? After shutting off all the lights, I make my way upstairs and reiterate that I don't want any reports on what went on at the house right at this moment in time, which only makes Uther more disgruntled, but I really don't care. It wasn't me that appointed him boy and house guardian – let him take it up with the people who sold him down the river. Though from the commotion I know that at least Gawain's extra boots didn't have a good vacation…and my mother's dog is in deep trouble if Gawain gets him alone. Honestly, I have no idea why that dog hates Gawain so much but he does… Shrugging, I decide that bed sounds good right about now. After so much time away, Ewan has insisted Steven curl up with him so I get a nice, king size bed to myself…or not. Apparently the bed, sans Steven, has become the new flop spot because they are all crowded onto it in various positions, leaving me a tiny sliver of bed and pillow. Godsdarn them.

"OFF! All of you – now. OFF!" I am furious and I don't care anymore. "Just get out. I don't care where you go…" I am stopped short when a mysterious, nondescript black bag is thrust toward me by Agravaine. Why does he get tasked with presenting me with all gifts…? I contemplate this while also contemplating if I ought to open this or not. Turning it over in my hands I try to ascertain what it might be – or might not be, considering the givers. It doesn't seem to be something that can bite me – far too soft and pillow-esque. Which also means it cannot be chocolate. Or a weapon. Or anything from one of the 'little pretties'. The last one makes me incredibly thankful because you have no idea how frightened I was of opening my baggage and finding…nevermind.

"It's a present…a souvenir…" Gareth thinks this will somehow alleviate the apprehension that I am certain is clear on my face…

"I know what it is. I'm trying to decide if it's safe to open or not."

"Oh it's safe. Trust us." Are you laughing? I'm trying not to and exercising every measure of restraint I possess when those words come from Mordred, Mr. Trustworthy himself. Not.

"Well that's just incredibly reassuring." I keep turning the dark bag over in my hands. Its times like this I kind of wish I'd put a bit more thought behind my superhero of preference – chosen someone like Superman with his x-ray vision rather than Thor…and his mighty hammer… I try not to sigh dreamily as I picture the Thunder God in my head; no need to touch off another episode like the prior one. And I quickly glance at Beds, who looks away just as quickly so I can't tell if the old goat has read my mind or not. Guess we'll know if I wake up tomorrow as a prisoner in my own house again…

"Come on…just open it. Swear it won't bite. Or anything else." Notice how Agravaine first mentions the bite part, then goes to the cover-all? Me too…and it does not reassure me but I know I've got no choice as they all sit and stare at me.

Closing my eyes I turn the bag over so I am holding the handles and cautiously I reach into the bag.. As I do this, I fail to notice Beds creep up next to me and, as my hand descends into the black pit of the bag, he reaches forward and grabs the bag from underneath, also grabbing my hand. For good measure, he also throws in a combination growl/bark/howl…which is only momentarily audible once I let loose my own shriek. The usual chaos ensues – I get angry, remove my hand and throw the bag at the laughing group, relaying graphic instructions in very unflattering words and phrases where to put their souvenir.

After a bit more laughter, Gawain picks the bag up and brings it back to me. "Really…open it. You'll like it."

That's not any more reassuring than previously, but again I realize I've got no choice. Keeping my eyes open this time (glaring at Bedwyr as he grins and shrugs) I hold my breath as I reach into the bag and pull out…a shirt. Shaking the shirt out, I turn it around when I notice bright pink lettering on the front… My eyes flick from the shirt to their smirking faces as they watch me read the message.

"Save a horse. Ride a Knight." I snort and shake my head but can't contain the laugh and smile. I have to admit, it's a pretty good souvenir…sometimes they can be sweet, thoughtful, etc. "Thank you."

There are various mutters of 'welcome' and they actually look a bit embarrassed by their show of affection.

"So now that's over, we're home so…house rules. Get out." I point to the door, gesturing for them to make use of it. Surprisingly they heed my request, jostling out as Beds again gives his combo growl/bark/howl that sets them off into a fit of laughter and comments about how I looked when he did that, etc. Yes, it is yet another night that they will enjoy amusement at my expense; honestly, I think I'm starting to get used to it.


	18. BluRay of Misery

**Disclaimer:** Nothing. Nada. Zero. No bling, no cha-ching. I think that about covers all bases.

**A/N:** This is kind of just…happened. I was actually working on the next chapter when it was rudely interrupted. Way weird, but please do read on to enjoy my pain. And, this is about a week overdue, so this was last Saturday…

* * *

_**(Blu)Ray of Misery**_

It's Saturday – no work, all play. The men are off to the racetrack and I'm going to do my own thing. Or twelve. Coffee is still hot though I am going to miss tae kwon do today, since it took like two hours to get them out of the house. Two hours! And they say women are bad… Sighing I pad into the kitchen where there is a debate of some sort taking place…

"What's up, booooooooys?" Yes, I drag the 'o' out like a bad imitation of the '80's whatever it was…sue me. I got to sleep in today so I'm pretty chipper.

"New blu-ray player, eh?" Mordred is so suspicious sometimes. I swear that man drinks paranoia juice by the gallon some weeks.

"Uh…yeah…new electronics store opened. Had super great deal so we nabbed one for upstairs – what's the problem?"

Of course, that is the wrong question to ask this group. I blame it on the coffee. I was trying to use up the open stuff and there were two open bags…and so I just dumped them into the coffee maker holder thingee…and it was a lot of coffee grounds – I mean A LOT. So the coffee was a little, uh, potent today.

"And this…?" Gareth is holding a small, black package out for my inspection. I know, I know…with this group never trust small, black packages – especially if Bedwyr is anywhere nearby, which, I note, he is not – so I take the package and laugh.

"It's a t-shirt. A limited edition, commemorative shirt for buying the new Star Wars blu-ray set. And we're thinking of giving it to the boy for Christmas since it has Darth Vader on it and he thinks that guy rocks."

"And them…?" Gaheris jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

Well, holy schnikes folks, it's a battalion of clone troopers in the backyard. Wow. This could really end poorly if any Jedi tagged along. Or the main man, as he's become known, Darth himself. Which leads me to start wondering…if, perhaps, let's just say theoretically that Vader did show, what would a confrontation look like between him and, oh, say, Uther…? I can barely contain my giggles as I try to imagine that one. Or…better yet…what about Vader v. Mordred…? Now that'd be a classic for the books. But, then my eyes alight upon the ultimate opponent…the one I could sell tickets for and make a killing: Vader v. Bedwyr. I'm telling you, it would be the ultimate smackdown, throwdown, master manipulator and interrogator cerebral game championship… I try not to break into a fit of giggles but I must've made some noise cause Beds is now looking at me like I've lost my freaking mind.

Composing myself, I open the back door and freeze. What do you call these guys? I mean, they're clones so if you call one Mr. Smith, does that mean they're all Mr. Smith…? Luckily I don't have to worry since as I step out onto the stair, they all turn at once (yes, it was soooo cool) and, oh my gods, they salute me. I look behind me cause I'm sure there's a dude in black with respiratory issues back there somewhere…but there isn't. They actually saluted me. ME! Oh my gods I could get used to this.

"Ma'am…good morning, ma'am. We're just waiting on our duty assignment from Lord Ewan…"

Oh my freaking…oh I am so going to have to talk to Ewan about this. Wait a second. Did he just call my son 'Lord Ewan'? Oh my. Wow. My son's definitely got ambitious plans: construction company owner; firefighter; tae kwon do Grand Master and now, apparently, Lord of a Universe. Hmmm…mom's thinking she might want to consider being a bit more lenient when he forgets to take out the rubbish…

"Umm…well…good morn to you, uh…" I look at his armour and realize that I have no idea what the symbols mean so I am relieved when he removes his helmet and whispers 'Captain Rex'. "Yes…good morn, Captain Rex. And to your fine looking crew as well. Lord Ewan is not here today – sorry for the trouble. Ummm…I guess all of you can just…"

"GO AWAY!" The chorus comes from behind me and I mentally cringe. I might physically as well, I'm not sure.

The Captain looks from them to me and I just nod. "Please…really…don't get them riled… I will tell my…I mean Lord Ewan that you were here and I'm sure he'll see you…soon… Oh, but not tomorrow – he won't be home tomorrow either…" Might as well nip this in the proverbial bud. The group nods collectively (yes, again, soooo cool even if it is slightly creepy as they have all removed their helmets and they all look exactly the same) and departs. Just like that. No fuss. No muss. No trampled bushes or near misses with the neighbour's dogs.

Wow.

Shaking my head I go back into the house. Clapping my hands, I get everyone's attention. "So…what say ye, Knights of yore – shall we go back to documenting the Ren Faire incidents…" My voice changes from happy to not-quite-so-happy by the end of that phrase and I drag out the 's' at the end of incidents to make sure they know I haven't forgotten. "You are all so lucky that security guard had a sense of humour or I swear you would all be sitting in some jail somewhere cause I don't have enough bail money to…" I make flexing motions in the air with my hands, indicating that I would've strangled each and every one of them…

They, of course, just look at me like I've lost my freaking mind before shrugging and asking if I plan to run to the store anytime soon cause, you know, we're getting kinda low on hard cider and a few other "essentials"…

I stalk off toward my office, followed closely by Kay who is talking to me about some plans he has for research since we are headed toward cold and flu season and, you know, he'd like to be ahead of the curve for treatments…

I don't get the chance to answer him as, when I turn to let him know that whatever demented reason he wants that corner of the basement for, he doesn't have to make up excuses; he just needs to leave me and the hubby and child out of it, I see the gang coming toward me and they do not look very happy. In fact, to say they are un-amused and unhappy would only scratch the surface.

This time it's a blue package in their possession…and it makes a crinkling noise – you know the noise when you wrinkle up a plastic bag? Like, say, a plastic bag from Best Buy… Yeah, you got it, that noise. My stomach sinks because I only know of one blue bag that would make that crinkling sound and if they were already nosing about in my closet and "found" the t-shirt…that was hidden inside a wicker basket that HAD A LID ON IT. Oh frucking frug.

"Care to explain this?" Mordred is shaking the package at me.

"Well…no…not if you're giving me a choice. Thanks for being considerate." I make a grab for the bag and, of course, being vastly taller than me, Dred is able to move it out of my reach easily. And, no, I didn't actually believe I was going to get away without an explanation…it was a nice thought though.

"Really? You thought we were just gonna fork this over?" Agravaine has snatched the bag from Dred and is now shaking it at me.

"OK…I give…what's in the bag?" Kay sounds completely perplexed.

"What's in the bag is the reason for the blu-ray player upstairs…what's in the bag is why she was late getting home the other night…" The bag has now been passed to Gaheris who is glaring at me…and so is his evil twin from over his shoulder.

"OK…but still…what's in the bag?" Apparently Kay was not part of the "discovery team"…

"THIS!" Gawain shrieks (yes, shrieks) as he yanks the item from the bag and holds it up with the back side facing forward, which only serves to confuse Kay more until Galahad grabs it, turns it around and puts it back in Gawain's paws.

I hang my head to cover my grin. They're darn skippy I was at Best Buy the other day purchasing this item. I am shocked I refrained until Thursday when it was released Tuesday, in all honesty. I try not to sigh in sheer bliss as I look up and take in the cover.

Yes, ladies and gents, it is the blu-ray of 'Thor'…released here stateside this past Tuesday (sorry non-US friends, I've heard you have to wait for a bit longer). And, well, we all know how much this crew simply adores the God of Thunder…

"Well…?" That's quite a demanding tone Dag has taken…

"Well, what?"

"What are your intentions with…this…?" Dear lord, the way Grav grabs hold of it, you'd think it was a fully loaded diaper or something…

"Ummm…to watch it cause that's what you do with those sorts of things. Maybe make a little popcorn – butter and salt since I don't have to worry about anyone hassling me and, you know maybe a cold beverage…"

"Ummm…how about no?"

I look at Gawain who has his arms folded across his chest, staring intently. "Did you just tell me I can't watch my own dvd?"

"Yes, yes I do believe he did. And he speaks for all of us. This dvd is not getting opened. Ever. At all." Dred seems very adamant.

"Oh, are you all feeling a little bit threatened because I got a new dvd? Awww…how cute…" No, I cannot keep the sarcasm out of my voice. It's my dvd, goshdarned it. I make a futile attempt to jump and grab it from Agravaine who simply lifts it higher and looks at me like I've lost my freaking mind (sensing a trend here?).

"And for the record, we are not cute. Ever. In any way, shape or form." Gareth narrows his eyes and hisses.

"Keep it up…you've got a big, hardcover thesaurus in that office of yours…" Oh, there's Bedwyr. For a while I thought perhaps he had some sensibility and…yeah…I know…but they say one should always keep hope.

"Surely. Now can I just have my dvd back and, you know, some space to watch it in relative peace?"

"NO." That's a group response and, wow, that did not take them long.

Sighing I decide that perhaps the path of deception is best. No, I do not know what I was thinking. Yes, deep inside I am sure I knew it wouldn't work. But it's my dvd and I want to watch it because, oh my gods, there is this one scene and Thor's shirtless and wearing these really low-rise jeans and oh my gods…that alone is worth the price of the dvd. And in blu-ray on a HDTV…oh my freaking goodness, I might just melt into that comfy chair…

I come back to reality when I hear the snapping of fingers and clearing of throats. Whoops. Guess I let that little fantasy show a bit too clearly on my face cause now they all look seriously unhappy. Not that they weren't before, but try to imagine that magnified.

"Well…OK…since we've reached an impasse, maybe we all ought to just think on it and, you know reconvene in a couple of hours; talk this out once we've all had time to process the situation…" As I talk, I am sidling closer to Galahad who is now the dvd holder. He's on the smaller side and I'm pretty confident I can take him. Though what I'm going to do after that, I'm not real sure and, no, I haven't exactly thought this all the way through. I'm just desperate to get my dvd. Which must show pretty clearly because as I move in for the snatch, wriggling my fingers at my side because I have been watching way too many crime shows lately (thanks, Dag) and that is what the bad guys always do, Bedwyr sweeps past and filches it right as I make my grab attempt. I can't contain the words that come out of my mouth and, no, I can't reprint any of them here. Suffice to say I heard Bors whistle and murmur some words of admiration.

"That's fine. We can do that." Bedwyr turns, inspecting the dvd case before staring at me. "We'll take a few hours to, you know, think about it…" He holds his hand that is not wrapped around the dvd case up to stifle the protests from his brethren. "A couple of hours…you can shower, think about your approach and we'll have some time to consider our answer. Sound fair?" Beds smiles in that knowing way of his and, yes, at that moment I already know what their answer will be, but I figure this is about the best option I'm going to be given so I better take it.

_**XXXXXXX**_

I've spent the past few hours up in my room, showering and sorting laundry and wishing to all the gods that I had that damn dvd because it would've been so sweet to watch while… Whatever. I figure by now they've got to have had enough time to – well – to have given it some thought…yeah, I know, I'm just deluding myself. The answer is I'm not getting that dvd back so I better just suck it up and face that it's gonna be a Thor-less weekend.

I open the bedroom door and things are shockingly quiet. I mean like shockingly like are they even still in the house quiet. I'd say quiet enough to hear a Mouse, but I'm realistic and there's not a chance in hell I'd hear him even with my legendary bat-like hearing.

Proceeding down the stairs with caution, I can now see them all in the kitchen…gathered around the island, which as we've already established, tends to serve as "command central" for their plots, plans and general mischief. This does not bode well and, yes, I chicken out and divert to my office so I can think up how I'm going to even attempt to handle this…them…whatever. I don't have long and I hear the heavy march of boots coming toward my office… I reach down and turn the computer on; maybe if I play off as unconcerned, it'll do something. Again, yes, I realize it's not a real plan but cut me some slack and go back and read the previous however many chapters…I'm kinda tired, y'know? And that's only the stuff I've bothered to write down…trust me, there's far more. Plans to deal with this crew don't just materialize out of thin air…

I jump as the thunk of something landing on my desk startles me. Oh my fricking gods…it's the dvd. I can't believe…are they for real? Eagerly I seize the dvd because there's no chance in hell or anywhere else I'm gonna give them the chance to snag it back… I hug it to my chest (yes, pathetic – welcome to my life) and stare up at them, noting they still do not look happy but yet I seem to be amusing them at least somewhat.

Wait a second.

This dvd is unwrapped. The other one was still sealed – wrapped up tight and snug and secure, much like Thor in those nice jeans… Wow. I've got to stop that or I'm really gonna be in trouble here. Shaking my head, I take another look at the packaging and, yup, it's unwrapped… My heart sinks and I open the case; yes, they have given me the case but removed the dvd's… You can fill in the blanks of what filth comes out of my mouth here.

Hanging my head, I realize the only option is negotiation. I hate negotiation. I'm so bad at it. And even worse because, well, they have Dagonet, who alone is like having an entire law firm of pitbulls; and if that isn't bad enough, they've got Bedwyr – master manipulator and everything else. I'm starting to understand what the Titanic must've felt like after hitting that iceberg.

"OK…so thanks for the case…please at least tell me the dvd's are safe…" I look up and watch as Agravaine produces one disc and Mordred the other. It was a dual set – one blu-ray copy, one dvd copy; sue me, I like to have my bases covered in case I have the urge to watch it and don't have a blu-ray player handy. "OK…so…what's the deal? How do I get the actual dvd's back in the case and in my possession so I can watch the things?"

"Easy. You allow us to take simple security measures."

Simple security measures? My turn to look at Gaheris like he's lost his freaking mind. Like this crew knows the definition of "simple security measures"… But, I remind myself, if I have any hopes of seeing those discs safely inside their case and, further, in my blu-ray player this evening I better go along with their dvd hostage taking and see what I can negotiate. And let me just add now that I am quite possibly one of the worst negotiators ever – if it were my job, well let's just say if you were a hostage you'd be better off taking your chances with your captor than letting me do any talking.

"Uhm…how about we discuss those simple security measures and see if we can't, you know, come to some sort of mutually acceptable version of "homeland security". You know, something that makes you guys feel safe but yet doesn't have the potential to inadvertently maim or kill members of the household."

I notice they all seem a bit shifty and that Bedwyr, Kay and Dagonet are standing apart from the group… Oh my could it be we have a divided Sarmatian contingent? I resist the urge to smile as this could so work in my favour…if they're without their chief braintrust… Though they do still have Mordred and Agravaine, neither of whom are slouches on the negotiation front…or strangers to being downright evil, as we all know.

"Mmmm…how bout, no?" Dred twirls the dvd on his finger and smiles.

This is going poorly already. And here's where I hit my snag. See, I start off well with negotiations but the first snag and, yeah, I'm pretty well done.

"Fine. Then how about you all just leave the dvd's, take your crap and get out?" See, told you it wouldn't go well…

There is absolute silence for an eerie moment as the words I have just shouted sink in. Gawain drops the granola bar he was stuffing down and Galahad lets out some sort of strange combination of a gasp/yelp/shriek. The Twins confer with each other and their unhappiness is pretty clear by the way their eyes narrow and they stare at me – hard. Agravaine and Mordred exchange looks of disbelief that turn to anger when they turn their attention back to me. The trio of non-participants exchange looks, apparently having decided this has now gone horribly wrong and they need to intervene.

Kay clears his throat and steps forward, taking the discs out of his brother's hands, grabbing the case out of my hand and then carefully snapping the discs back in. Closing it with a snap, he looks from me to the crew and then back to me. "So…before anyone says anything else stupid, let's try to be adults and discuss this to a mutually acceptable resolution. A compromise, if you will…"

"She told us to leave! You heard her! She prefers the company of that…that…" Gawain looks like he's going to be ill and, looking at the carpet, I'm pretty certain Galahad has been ill…

"That was not said, Gawain…" Bedwyr, who I never thought I would call the voice of anything but mischief, has now inserted himself and has taken possession of the dvd case from Kay. I know cause I'm keeping a close eye on that item; I'm not risking it disappearing into thin air.

"But…" Gareth suddenly looks horrified as it dawns on him. "You're taking her side! What has she promised you? We'll….I'm not sure but we'll match whatever she's promised…"

Dagonet shakes his head and mutters something in what I am guessing is Sarmatian and I am also guessing is not very flattering from the way Gaheris glares at him.

"Yes, we are taking her side. And would you like to know why? You imbeciles…if you had bothered to actually look at the case and read it…" Dag shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Oh, now this I have got to hear cause I have a feeling it's gonna be good. I feel all eyes on me and I simply shrug; I've got no idea where this is headed and I'm just as curious…

"So try to follow what I'm going to say…" Beds holds the dvd case up. "What do we lack in sufficient numbers in our movie?" He waits for an answer…and waits…and waits some more.

Finally Kay takes pity on him and shouts, "Women!"

"But…there's women… Vanora… And Guinevere…" I have to agree with Gareth and admit I am having problems following the logic thus far.

"OK. First off, Vanora is Bors' lover and unless you're going to take him on, I have to say she doesn't count."Beds snorts and shakes his head. "Further, it has never been sufficiently proven that Guinevere is actually a woman…unless, of course, one of you wants to volunteer something and vouch for the princess…?"

Everyone shifts rather uncomfortably and shakes their heads. Apparently there are no takers on that offer.

"So this movie has women?" Agravaine is apparently now slightly more curious as he takes the case back from Beds, who nods yes.

"Women who are for certain women…?" Mordred still seems skeptical and I'm thinking at some point he was near to flushing out that particular mystery surrounding Guinevere…a little too near judging by the expression on his face when Beds pointed that out.

Dagonet lets out another string of curses and rolls his eyes. "Aye…women who are for certain women."

The crew takes his under consideration and after one last look at me, they huddle a short distance away. I hold my hand out for the case and, instead, Beds smacks it away with a look like I've lost my freaking mind.

The crew has made a decision; they break huddle and come back to the negotiation area.

"OK. Here's the deal. We won't enact any of those plans," Dred gestures to a roll of papers that I hadn't even noticed before; holy sassafrass, they actually had blueprints drawn up! "But…we get a preview of just what women we'll be looking at…and then we'll talk…" He crosses his arms to match the rest of the crew and I sigh as I realize that is about the best I am going to get.

Minutes later that adorable little FireFox creature is sprinting across the web and I'm headed over to the official Thor site (no laughing over there, I hear you laughing and just stop it) to start pulling up pics. There are plenty of ooh's and aaah's as they point and I click and they peruse (read: drool). Once we finish, yeah, you guessed it, they're back to the huddle…

I look at Kay, Dag and Beds and they simply shrug. I know they've done all they could but I just…curiosity is killing me so I stroll over and inquire.

"Uh…so…"

"Told you, Van belongs to Bors and that only leaves Guinevere." Dagonet is his usual detached, matter-of-fact self.

"So that's it then. It's all about the chicks…"

All three snort and Kay rolls his eyes. "Yes…cause for you it's all about the plot and not the blonde in the tight jeans…"

"Well…uh…"

Kay holds up his hand and motions that the crew appears to have reached some sort of answer as they are approaching us… Yes, I do cross my fingers. And toes. And say a silent prayer to every deity I can think of and, yes, that does include a particular thunder god. So there.

No one says a word. There is simply a nod. A nod! I cannot contain myself and I let out a cry of victory.

"However… We require beer. And more of that hard cider. And…suitable snacks for the movie theatre experience…" Why do they always make Gawain do the food bartering? Whatever. I'm so stoked that I actually get my dvd and can watch it that I don't particularly care what their food demands are. "AND we get to go along….AND we each get to pick out a snack…or dessert…or for some of us, both."

"Yes…yes…fine…let's go. Now. Hurry…hurry… Movie time is wasting…" I now have the case back in my possession and after I pull it open to make sure the discs are actually in it, I begin stroking and petting it and I'm sure I look rather akin to Gollum but, you know, I don't really care right now. I do, however, show great restraint and do not kiss the dvd case – at least not in their presence.

_**XXXXXXX**_

It's hours later and we're mid-way through the second viewing. Yes, I did just say second viewing. I know, I've had to look around and pinch myself as well. We settled on using the tv on the first floor because it's larger and it has more room to fit everyone comfortably than the small space upstairs. Plus, it's much closer to the cold beverages and snacks…

They're laughing at some part or another and Galahad leans over and taps me on the shoulder. "You weren't really going to toss us all out on our arses, were you?"

I look at him, take a drink and respond. "I plead the Fifth."

"Fifth…what fifth?"

Snapping my fingers, I get Dag's attention and motion him over… "Dag…would you be so kind as to explain to Galahad the origins and meanings of the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution and what it means when someone pleads the Fifth…?" I can barely contain my laughter as Dag smiles brightly and puts his arm around Galahad's shoulder, walking the Pupster toward the kitchen as he launches into a full legal explanation of the topic…


	19. This Is Halloween

**Disclaimer: **Same drill as always though I have come to determine that they own me.

**A/N:**Halloween. Traditionally my favourite holiday – seriously. I love to see the kids all dressed up. Even the overgrown ones that live with me. No matter how inadvertently horrifying it might be. Many thanks to my beta readers.

* * *

_**Halloween**_

It's finally here. Halloween. Well, technically the day before Halloween 'cause this year the holiday is a Monday and so our village, in their infinite wisdom, decreed that Sunday should be trick-or-treat day. Which actually works far better for me – now I get to see all the costumed kids which I wouldn't have tomorrow 'cause, you know, the work/commute/get home really late thing.

No surprise, Ewie wanted to be Darth, much to the disappointment of the crew. As long as it didn't involve tights, Stephen was all for whatever the boy wanted – long story; let's just say the child's aunties had a thing when he was small for trying to get him into costumes that involved tights.

And as for my costume, let's just say anything that contained 'naughty' or 'vixen' in the title of the costume was immediately nixed. Hence, no 'naughty nurse' or 'pirate vixen' or even 'wicked red riding hood'… Much to the disappointment of the crew – and Stephen. Which pretty well means I'm going as me this year; deal with it.

I grab one of those super long matchstick things and light the candles inside the jack-o-lanterns on the front stoop. As I do I shake my head and bite back a laugh; we carved these about a week ago to officially kick off the Halloween festivities in our house… And, yeah, you guessed it; Galahad didn't do too well with gutting the pumpkins. I don't know why, it isn't as though they're large orange animals or something…but for some reason cutting them open and ripping out the innards really got to him. Although, I guess referring to it as "gutting" and "ripping out their innards" could be partially to blame. Along with Kay showing up dressed like a surgeon – replete with a tray of daggers and other various cutting/carving/scraping tools (no, you don't want to know and, yes, the man is a medical docudrama addict with far too much free time). And then, of course, adding in the trio of Mordred, Agravaine and Bedwyr who simply live to torture the younger… I do admire that at least this year Galahad didn't "blow chow" as has become this month's term of affection here for that particular bodily function. He did faint though. Twice. Once when we gutted the pumpkins (complete with sound effects by the aforementioned trio) and the second time when, after I'd put the seeds into the oven for toasting and cooled them, we all started eating them…including Ewan, which seemed to horrify Galahad the most. Thankfully, no one took the opportunity to explain to him that the pumpkin pie (sans aerosol whip cream of course) he'd consumed so eagerly earlier is made from pumpkins…that are gutted… Yes, you see the predicament. It is a strange world Galahad inhabits and I try to disrupt it as little as possible.

Anyway. Back to Halloween. Well Halloween proper. You know what I mean. Keep calm and carry on, isn't that how the saying goes? Right. Onward.

The crew is highly disappointed in Ewie's choice of Halloween costume. This year is the year of Darth Vader – for everything: shirts, pyjamas, toys, game…you name it and it there's a Darth Vader version that's the one the kid wants. They're starting to get just a wee bit sick of the man with the breathing problems. I had to stop them from asking the ENT doctor the other day during Ewie's appointment if he could do anything to help the blasted sod (best edited approximation I could come up with) quit wheezing or if they should just proceed with their own plans. And judging by the way Kay smiled, I am going to hazard a guess it entailed some highly involved medical procedure for him to "try his hand at".

I pointed out his costume choice could've been worse…he could've chosen a Thor costume…or the Roman looking one… Which made them relent – slightly; okay so little that it was almost damn near imperceptible. Especially when Ewie pulled out the lightsaber that makes noise and lights up…it is pretty cool. Not to them though. I got to listen to a discourse on the virtues of why a good old fashioned steel sword is far superior to some light-up sparkle stick that buzzes and makes other odd sounds. Yes, edited version again.

Anyway. I am busy putting candy in the bucket for distribution and trying to get Ewie ready for trick or treat with his friends. Stephen is taking him so I can stay behind and pass out candy. Well, at least they'll go for a bit, then come back and get me, then I'll take him…'cause I absolutely positively beyond a doubt love, love, LOVE Halloween. Not so much the scary crap, but the mischief and the costumes; and listening as the kids have fun.

So. Right. I'm busy prepping for Halloween – yes, my OCD comes into play but no, as my husband has suggested, I do NOT have a problem with all the candies being mixed together. I do not need to separate them into buckets by the alphabet. Maybe next year – by alphabet and then by colour… This year, unfortunately, I only have time to separate the chocolate from the non-chocolate. But it does give me something to strive for next year.

I hear a loud clearing of a throat behind me and I partially turn, seeing Stephen standing with his arms crossed, looking none too amused. Oh lord, what now? That must slip out of my mouth because he raises an eyebrow and looks at me before jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Do I actually have to take them along?"

"Yes. You know you have to, you don't get a vote and saying 'no' is not an option. We had this discussion and you know…we lost." I shrug and am slightly embarrassed because it is true. They beat both of us into submission about Halloween trick-or-treat. It was rather pathetic how soundly we were routed…and how easily as I recall…

"But have you seen their costumes?"

"No…but I'm sure they're fine – I was very specific that ALL parts had to be covered and nothing gross or scary."

"Yeah…you might've wanted to define scary a bit better, hon…" And with that Stephen walks away, yelling for Ewie to get his Darth Vader self ready to go…

Yes, like you my interest is now piqued and so I wait. I know Ewie will ring the doorbell because, you know, he has to show mommy his costume and collect the starter candy. Hey, it's a tradition and a superstition; when and if you have kids, you can do your own thing…this is mine. Think of it as seeding the trick-or- treat bag…and Ewan does get a huge kick out of "surprising" mommy. Which means they will all appear…eventually…

So here we go – the doorbell rings and I act surprised when – oh my gosh – Darth Vader is standing on my doorstep! And a few candies and some laughs…and Ewie is on his way, waving his illuminated saber and laughing loudly.

And then I see the entourage. Of course Kay is Dr. Kay, medical bag (which I am guessing is hiding daggers, etc. for the crew since I told them no weapons) and lab coat and that funky reflector thing on his head…Dag is similarly attired in ER scrubs and that little hat thingee and the booties which don't quite cover his heavy boots, but still very flattering in the dark blue he's selected. Galahad and Gawain are scarecrows and they do look rather…ok, I'll say it, they look rather cute in their coveralls and straw sticking out…though gods help Gawain when he has to brush all that straw out of that mane of his...not to mention that beard. Note to self: hide spray detangler if I intend to have any left for myself. Gaheris and Gareth have opted for bikers and I have to say, they are doing a damn fine job pulling that off with their tight jeans, black Harley t-shirts and boots. Bedwyr is a government agent of some sort (DEA, ATF, FBI – pick one or maybe all, knowing him) complete with bulletproof vest, holsters and cuffs, not to mention nice jeans and boots as well. And to the person whose closet he raided, again many thanks for indulging his request and I promise it'll all be back before your next mission or job or adventure or whatever you call it. Tristan is, as expected, cloaked in black and looks like the spectre of death. Mouse has been shoved into my old costume from a few years ago that is a gargoyle. Yes – very original, I know. Actually, it is and I am quite proud of it in all honesty though you would be surprised how many people do not know what a gargoyle is… Anyway. I hear yelling and, turning slightly, shake my head as Agravaine comes into view. Grav has been nominated to be the frilly, overdressed Knight. And he is seriously not happy. Though this does mean he gets to carry a sword…albeit, I am fairly certain if I could read his lips, it would be a "sissified, bloody insulting sword that no real man in his right mind would carry". Yes, I also feel confident that would be the extremely clean version. However…the best has been saved for last. Yes, folks, I mean Mordred…or, rather the Demon from KISS. 'Cause that's who he is dressed as…and really, given his penchant for their music, does it honestly surprise you? All six-foot-five inches of him that now looks closer to seven feet, replete with the platform heels and the hair…and the spikes and leather…and the white and black face paint. I honestly don't know if I should laugh or cringe…but I now know exactly what Stephen was referring to when he asked if he had to take them…along with a better definition of scary for next year.

I wave as they all disappear around the corner; most of them wave – Dred is having some problems just negotiating the sidewalk in those boots so he just kind of flings his hand into the air; Grav…well you can guess the hand gesture from him though I'm not sure why; after all, it isn't like I had anything to do with him getting stuck in that stupid costume… My laughing and hooting at him probably isn't helping though, come to think of it. Oh well. I'm sure I'll pay later. But really – if they'd have gotten him into the tights like I wanted, I think I'd have pee'd myself. Oh, uh, I mean, like they told me they were going to…and I, of course, tried to dissuade them… Please don't tell him I was in on it. Let it be our little secret. Mainly because if he finds out, my head and shoulders might part company and then whose life would you have to read about and go "damn, compared to hers, my life is pretty simple"?

All I know is there are kiddies on their way and that makes me happy. I know…but it's the simple things folks, really.

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

So it takes about 45 minutes and Ewie, Stephen and the crew return. Ewie dumps his candy stash, Stephen and I trade places and now Ewie has to trick-or-treat daddy. Look, folks, get over it and see above for the whole tradition, etc. lecture. I clarify the route that they took so we don't double hit houses and we set off – this time the route is the back of the subdivision…kinda odd that as it gets a bit chillier, I get the further route…gonna have to keep this in mind for next year. I think I sense a Halloween rules list, much like there is for that other holiday that shall remain nameless at this time.

It's going really well – lots of people out and handing out candy. Heck, at one house Ewie gets to choose between a few buckets filled with non-candy items to select two "treats". Of course, he selects two Lego mini figures before we move on. I like that house. Mentally, I make note of their address and add them to the "you-know-what holiday completely and totally off-limits decoration messing-with" list. Yes, it has come to that – in a compromise…well…you'll find out eventually. Maybe.

Anyway. It's going good. Ewie is skipping along – he's six, cut him some slack – and we're covering good ground with an impressive candy haul thus far, which makes Galahad's happy face even happier. Thankfully I remembered to bring an extra bag for the treats and periodically we pause to dump the haul…and so that the entourage can make sure he is getting "good stuff". What that specifically means, I don't know except if they figure out who gave Ewie the box of raisins, gods help you come fat man's holiday because I sure won't be able to.

Rounding the bend, there is one last house and then a long stretch of open space. I pause because something just doesn't sit right and I take the opportunity to remind Ewie to say thank you and straighten out his cape and mask. As we approach the house from the side, I note that the garage door is slightly open and there is fog trickling out from under it… Before I can grab Ewie, he dashes for the front door…did I mention the strange feeling in my gut? Yeah…well, it's there and forget the spidey senses, my mom suspicions are screaming and so I am a bit closer behind Ewie than I have been at the other houses. They are confirmed when I hear Ewie shriek and he comes tearing across the front lawn, bawling his eyes out, screaming and terrified beyond all belief. Have I mentioned that by now Mordred has mastered his platform heels? He has and I have to say, it is quite the sight to see him sprinting down the sidewalk toward my traumatized son.

My eyes narrow as I look toward the house and see the problem. Apparently this neighbour enjoys the scary side of Halloween and has dressed up as a demonic clown…complete with the creepy insane clown music, wig, etc. It is good that Ewie is clinging to me because were he not, I cannot even tell you what I would have done to the neighbour, but reports after say there was most assuredly murder in my eyes. I mean, really dude, save that for the older kids – it's still well before sunset and you know its little kids out and about.

After a nasty look from me and some extremely rude gestures from the crew, we move along though now Ewie will not let go of me and keeps turning to tearily make sure we are putting as much distance as possible between us and that house. The crew does their best to distract him – and themselves since they are quite pissed that I would not let them go do damage to the idiot. But it seems Ewie is done with trick-or- treat; again, not a good thing since the crew has now been "robbed" of treats from almost a third of the subdivision…and messing with their treat collecting is a serious offense. Serious. Especially this year since I told them Ewie's candy haul is all the candy that there will be until Easter…so you know Galahad is extremely dependant on this collection going well. And right now, it is most assuredly falling far short of expectations. Far short.

Finally, after a block or so and Ewie not willing to let go to ring doorbells and collect the goods, I decree that we are going home. Of course, we arrive and Stephen is extremely confused as to why we have returned so soon…which I explain as the crew assesses the candy haul. Ewie has gone upstairs to change and, suspiciously, is not yet down.

I go upstairs; Ewie's in his room curled up on his bed, hugging the teddy that is only slightly smaller than him. He's shut his blinds tight and pulled the curtains. Oh this is not good and, yes, you can guess the tirade that goes through my mind; out of my mouth comes coaxing to come downstairs and help us give out candy – Ewie really does enjoy that nearly as much as he does collecting his own haul so after a few minutes, I am able to get him to finish dressing and follow.

The crew applauds him as he comes downstairs and Galahad hands him a Tootsie Pop – cherry even, which are usually the ones the two of them end up fighting over… Mordred sits on the floor and Ewie sits on his lap – gods, how I wish I could take a photo because, no, Dred hasn't gotten out of his KISS get-up and it's an odd cross between being incredibly adorable and deeply disturbing. They all gather around in an attempt to take Ewie's mind off the trauma of the stupid clown man.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. No surprise that Agravaine is the first out of his costume and back into his "everyday" gear; Gawain takes forever as he has to pick the straw out of his hair and beard…and curses that he cannot find the detangler as I snicker quietly to myself. We sort through candy and, as expected, Galahad is most upset by the whole disturbance that led to a premature end to candy collecting. Other than that, everything settles down…until bedtime. Then it seems the memory of earlier comes back to haunt Ewie. It takes well over two hours for Stephen and me to convince Ewie that there is no evil clown in his closet and that no evil clown is coming to get him. I assure him yet again, with the full backing of the crew and Stephen, I might add, that nothing and no one on this planet or any other is scarier than his mother.

Finally, it takes Stephen curling up with Ewie and that giant teddy bear to get the child to sleep. I, of course, being the loving, caring, nurturing, now pissed off beyond all rational thought mother march down to Knight Central and demand to know just what the…heck…my boys plan on doing about this… Of course, I am proud to report, they are already steps ahead of me, having made good use of the past two hours to utilize the Halloween swag to map out the neighbourhood surrounding the home of the party responsible for ruining my Halloween.

"Plan?" I grab a handful of toasted pumpkin seeds and chew them angrily.

"Best for you not to know." Agravaine is matter-of-fact and cold.

Oh, I like how this is unfolding already. Looking around I note that they are all geared up – silly costumes replaced with leathers and brigandine and hauberks…boots have daggers attached.

"Man likes scary…we can do scary… We have Tris, after all. Top that on the scare-o-meter." Mordred smiles like the devil and motions over his shoulder to where Tris is perched on a countertop, still resplendent in his dark cloak with only those fierce amber orbs shining out.

Even Galahad has stopped smiling. His equation was flawless: cute kid + harmless costume = lots and lots of candy. Evil clown man leading to a candy shortfall did not figure in and now Galahad is a mixture of sad and angry. Which might not sound overall intimidating but visualize that although sad Galahad looks like he wants to cry, angry Galahad is busily sharpening his double edged dagger with the sharpening steel from the knife block and cursing ferociously in Sarmatian. Yes, let this be a lesson – do not get between Galahad and his anticipated candy haul.

Mouse pops in a short time later and they all gather around as Bedwyr walks me into my office, assuring me that it is best I have as little idea about what is going to take place as possible. They will report back the results like good minions but that for now I should just, you know, go to bed. I raise an eyebrow when Uther stalks past, his blackened Roman armour gleaming and crimson cape swirling as he nods toward Beds who inclines his head. Looking out the window my eyes get wide.

"Uh…Bedwyr…correct me if I am wrong, but would that be an entire Roman legion on the cul-de-sac?"

"Actually," he pauses to peer out the window, "believe it would be two full and quite possibly a half, not really sure…looks like some might be blocked by those stupid shrubs those neighbours really need to trim…"

"Uhm…"

"To insult this house, to wrong a member of this house is a serious offense. Rome would never tolerate such a gross offense against an esteemed citizen and neither will I." The authoritative voice of Uther sounds over Bedwyr's shoulder. "This miscreant will be taught a lesson of respect."

"Wait...did you just call me an esteemed citizen…?" I stand a little taller and smile – that is until Uther brushes around Bedwyr.

Looking me up and down, he stops and looks down that ski-slope nose of his. "Do not flatter yourself, Madame. I meant the boy." Shaking his head and muttering something in Latin that is most likely very unflattering toward me, Uther sweeps off toward the kitchen to coordinate his role in the…whatever they are plotting.

Beds slips his arm around me and I feel him shake with the repressed chuckle. "Don't look so disappointed…none of us were ever considered "esteemed citizens" either…"

"Great. Woohoo. Pardon me if I don't do a happy dance." I grump and cross my arms as Beds rolls his eyes and shrugs before he releases me and heads back toward the kitchen.

Pausing, he turns and points at me, then to the stairs with a stern look that I know means I ought to head upstairs and ignore any and all noises tonight. Of course you know I can't and I pull up a stool to the small windows by the front door to watch as the Knights and Uther exit the house. The Unholy Trinity has appeared and…holy crikey, this man has bought himself a world of trouble because blue princess brought daddy and his gang.

Whatever they discuss, everyone nods and then Uther is shouting in Latin and the legions of Roman troops march off; Merlin yells whatever in Woad-ish and they slink off, including her… It's only the Knights left and I'm not really sure who is in charge but they turn as a group, point to me and give various waves/thumbs-up before pointing upstairs and then disappearing.

Deciding I am probably far better off being able to truthfully disavow any knowledge of anything that takes place, I heed their order and make my way upstairs. Ewie is alone in his bed, finally sleeping soundly; Stephen is stretched out in ours. I take my contacts out and change into pyjamas; as I brush my pearly whites, I reflect on the day. Overall, not a bad Halloween, I would have to say… In the distance I hear faint shouting and it makes me shake my head. I'm guessing right now if you ask them, the crew would likely say that the day was still a slight disappointment due to the still lacking candy collection, but I am sure they think it's gotten a whole lot better now that they have been allowed to let out all the mischief they've kept bundled up.

Crawling into bed, I check my alarm – okay, so I check it like five times, happy now? Anyway. I crawl between the sheets and can't help the smile that breaks out on my face as I hear the wail of sirens…and they appear to be getting closer…in fact, if I had to guess, they're turning in to the back of the subdivision… Grinning, I know the crew's Halloween just made it to spectacular and, in a way, that warms my heart. Frightens me, yet warms my heart as well.


	20. The Winged Menace

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. I slightly own other people mentioned but not really as claiming any ownership of any person is wrong. No money is being exchanged either from the writing within or from various product endorsements/placements. Also nothing within should be construed as factually sound or relied upon in any school project or conversation in which such things may be called into question. Nor should any advice within replace the sound counsel of an esteemed and knowledgeable… *sound of a throat being cleared* Dagonet. Get away from the keyboard.

**A/N:** They're back. I think that about covers it. Proceed with caution. Many thanks to _Knights Queen_ for an entirely overwhelming list that would have the Academy shooing me off the stage if I tried to list them all…

* * *

_**The Winged Menace **_

"Did you know Ewan has a 'wiggly' tooth…?"

My eyes shift up from the carrot I'm chopping and focus on Galahad, who is eating a handful of mini-marshmallows.

"Yes, Captain Obvious, I do know about the 'wiggly' tooth. Kind of hard not to when every bedtime begins with a tooth check…"

"Oh. Right." Galahad swallows a few more of the sugar bombs – yes, swallows because I truly don't think he chews them – and I can tell he's got more on his mind.

"Spit it out, Galahad…" I wave the knife at him as I finish chopping and slide the carrots into the pot of soup behind me on the stove. I know – who would've thought me so domestic-like, eh?

"Who's this tooth fairy and why is she going to take his tooth?" Before I can answer, he's plunged onward. "I mean, what sort of beast robs children of their teeth…?"

Seriously? I stare, open-mouthed, for a few moments at the man huffing with disdain before me. But, I might point out, he also has not skipped a beat in stuffing those little marshmallows into his maw either.

"Uhm…Galahad…it's okay…"

"What? It is NOT okay… How can you say it's 'okay' for some beast to attack that sweet, innocent boy and thieve his teeth…?"

Sweet? Innocent? Apparently Galahad is suffering a memory lapse; only a few weeks ago Galahad wanted to kill this sweet and innocent little boy when said child took his boots for a "test run" in the melting snow. Which, as we all know, melting snow means mud…except for the large pile that the snowplow left behind, in which case it means jumping into a snow pile that came up to mid-thigh on Ewan. Completely filled the boots with snow/ice and then add in the dousing Galahad had to give them to get all the mud off. I think it took a week before they were completely dry… And nevermind the weekly query from Ewan to Galahad about the skirt/kilt thing (yes that is still a raging debate in the house) along with Ewan's new found line of inquiry: when Galahad plans on shaving his legs because, you know, mommy would NEVER wear a short skirt with furry legs… Not sure if Stephen or Bedwyr was responsible for that particular gem…

I take Galahad's arm and guide him out of the kitchen. Sharp knives and explanations to Galahad are not exactly an ideal combo. Or even a good combo, come to think of it. I have to wait so he can go back and grab the bag of mini-marshmallows because gods forbid he is without his sugar supply; at this rate, Galahad is going to end up a close, personal friend of the tooth fairy…

Of course, since the universe apparently still has some grudge with me, the rest of the crew is milling about in my office. At the sight of Galahad's mug, they begin their own inquisition into what manner of small, cuddly animal I've killed and cooked today (think Thanksgiving and, yes, I do realize that turkeys are not exactly cuddly but this is Galahad and…well…yeah…). I resist the urge to tell them all where to go and to fend for themselves since deep down I know that could backfire spectacularly (think reindeer shish-ke-bobs and, yes, I am looking right at Tristan on that one).

As I search my shelves for a book, I half-listen to Galahad enlighten the group about the beast coming to poach Ewie's wiggly tooth.

"From under his pillow, Galahad…" I sigh and move on to the other set of shelves wondering where the stupid book is.

"But…but…Ewie sleeps with his head under the pillow…"

In that instant I realize the poor tooth fairy has just shot past Santa and garnered top spot on their most misunderstood and, consequently, most hated list. Yes, you may insert a foul mouthed rant of your choice here because that is exactly what happens in my head. Before I can clarify, chaos erupts because, you know, what fun would it be if it didn't? You certainly wouldn't be having any fun right now (which I hope you are) cause there would be no chapter to read. And I'm good with that – kinda; my chaos is your entertainment…my therapist's too, come to think of it. Besides, Knights vs. tooth fairy has all the makings of a classic, doesn't it? Let's see how this progresses, shall we?

First, there is the realization in their minds of a completely toothless Ewie smiling at them. This is quickly followed by the absolute assertion that they will never, ever let that happen and this monster will have to step on their cold, dead bodies before it gets to steal all my son's teeth as he slumbers. Yeah – you guessed it – next is the retreat to the kitchen for planning and plotting. Which, today, is accompanied by what I am going to guess are words in Sarmatian that if they repeated in English would result in a bar of soap being jammed in their cakeholes, and/or a substantial contribution on their part to Ewie's college fund via the swear jar…or the current vacation fund, which seems to be looking likely to be a trip to the Rat Kingdom.

I smile as I finally locate my book on mythological creatures and proceed to the kitchen. Partway there I stop to scan the table of contents as well as index just to make sure there is no mention of King Arthur or his Knights of the Round Table cause, you know, they get all touchy about being called myths and whatnot.

They are already in the thick of plotting when I shoulder my way in. Galahad's bag of mini-marshmallows has become "building blocks" to lay out the house and perimeter. And, no, he is none too happy about this turn of event. At all. Though he does finally shut up when Agravaine threatens to shove the entire bag of mini-marshmallows…well…you've come to know him well enough so you can imagine the threat for yourself. And I can stay within the rating category.

I toss the book onto the counter, smushing the frighteningly accurate blueprint and causing them to hiss what I am again going to assume are most unflattering words in their native tongue. Yes, I do know what is said about the word "assume" but trust me, I feel very safe that my assumption won't be making an ass out of anyone.

"What the fudge brown fudgey goodness in the universe is that?" If that line makes absolutely zero sense, go back through and substitute some expletives…one that starts with a 'f' in the fudge parts and, well, something brown…you get the idea… Now let's find out who the potty mouth is, eh?

One eyebrow rises as I stare at Mordred; wow but someone is really taking this personally. Would've thought someone told him that it was the KISS cd pilfering fairy…although, I guess this is what you get when someone in your home "accidentally on purpose" wipes out months of another someone's reality show recordings. Anyway.

"That, gentlemen – and I do use that term so very loosely, is your adversary." I point to the picture of the diminutive, smiling, winged fairy woman. "My guess is she's maybe about...oh…yay high…" I squeeze my fingers together to indicate something fairly small, "And, further, she is purely benevolent – like we all learned the fat man in the red suit is, remember…?" Yes, amazingly, we have sort-of, kind-of, brokered a bit of a semi-truce around Santa.

"But she's stealing his tooth…teeth…" Gareth looks around for support and gets it nearly unanimously. I say "nearly" because Dag looks skeptical…as do both Bedwyr and Kay. Tristan…well…he looks like Tristan so I'm gonna lump him in with the skeptics for now since I can't ever really tell and, honestly, it just makes me feel damn better to have him on my side than theirs right now.

"She's a fairy, idiot. Wings. Tutu. Tiny. Hardly what I would deem a worthy adversary for Knights such as yourselves…" Yes, apparently I have lost all reasoning right now. No matter, the words are barely out than about five hands immediately cover my mouth and all sorts of shushing noises fill the kitchen.

"Don't speak poorly of the fairy folk…it pisses them off…"

"Or underestimate them…that also pisses them off…"

Oh my. I sigh and smack the hands away from my mouth before pinching the bridge of my nose as I count to…in all honesty, I don't count to any particular number because I lose count and have to resort to some deep breathing/relaxation techniques that aren't quite working…

The book is moved to the fruit bowl and the model I've destroyed is re-built. Galahad's hand is smacked repeatedly as he consumes various random pieces of structures until Tris threatens to aim for the middle. No one, including Galahad, is quite certain if he means the middle of Gal's hand or just, well, his middle in general, so in a rare wise decision, Galahad refrains from chowing down any further. And I remove Tris from the list of skeptics with a disappointed sigh.

I clear my throat and nod the three remaining skeptics over to the dining room. Once there, I confirm their suspicions that the tooth fairy will indeed only take the tooth that has fallen out and been placed under the pillow. Likewise I confirm that I am the tooth fairy, though they are disappointed when I tell them that, no, I will not be donning a tutu and wings to swipe the tooth and leave the cash. They look at me blankly and shrug when I ask how we are going to thwart the great plot against the winged menace; according to them we'll deal with it when we have to and I cringe inwardly because that does not reassure me.

_**XXXXXX**_

I had been hoping against hope that we would have a few days before we had to confront the whole tooth fairy/winged menace thing. No such luck. Stupid universe hating on me. Mere hours after this entire scene, Ewie called me on my cell phone which, miraculously I did figure out how to answer (look, technology and I have as uneasy of a friendship as me and the universe – that should tell you enough). He very excitedly told me all about how his tooth popped right out and there wasn't much blood and it was cool and did I want to see it when I got home and he was rushing up to put it under his pillow right this very minute… All the while I am only able to half-listen and as I watch the group playing dodgeball in the aisles of Target; I wince as Bors unloads a missile at Bedwyr who grabs Gawain and uses the Mighty Maned One (MMO) as a shield. The resulting thwack and wail from MMO echo through the store and I am pretty certain nearby parents grab their children and quickly vacate the section, if not the store.

"See…we do manage to get you peaceful shopping…" Mordred winks and sticks his tongue out before he turns and flings the glittery ball he's carrying at his brother who ducks but can't throw back as Dred is standing next to me and there's no way Grav is going to risk pissing me off further today. Not after making me look crazy in the men's department… Yeah, no comments about my mental state needed either; though just for the record my therapist says I'm doing well and the medication is helping – so there.

Eventually I manage to convince them to put the balls back and call it a draw, though Bors insists that he is dodgeball champ after pegging Mordred in a particular spot that I'm pretty certain is going to get Bors and brood removed from Mrs. Mordred's Christmas card list, if you know what I'm sayin'…

We pull into the garage and, as I lean forward to make sure I'm not going to hit the lawnmower, I casually mention that Ewie has lost his tooth and is very excited… The hush is foreboding and I can almost hear them exchange looks before they pile out of the truck hastily, talking about enacting plans and everyone knows what they need to do…

The day fades to evening which passes into night without incident. Honestly, I'm shocked at the lack of traps being set…and also highly suspicious. Bedwyr, Kay and Dagonet are working up plans on how to drug the majority of the group much like other occasions when reasoning has failed to dissuade their course of action. When reason fails, rely on the healers to bring out the drugs. Works for me. Seems to work for them too, though I think Kay may enjoy it a bit too much as he is currently humming happily and smiling as he cooks up whatever it is on the stove…

Bedtime is here and after we go through brushing teeth, including the newly empty spot, the tooth is carefully placed under the pillow. Ewie is tucked in all snug and eager to find out what the tooth fairy will leave him, so I remind him multiple times that he has to be asleep or she won't come. The snickering from the corner attracts my attention and I simply shake my head. Maybe if I refuse to play their little game they'll give up and…yeah…again me and my wishful/hopeful thinking, I know.

It was decided that since I am far tinier than Stephen, it would be easier for me to navigate sliding the tooth out and the money under the pillow, so he heads up to bed after cheekily wishing me the best of luck. I glare and tell him I'll get him…of course there are many extra words in that sentence, which only makes him snicker harder as he retreats upstairs to bed.

After an hour or so, I check and Ewie is asleep. Looking around, I am shocked that his room appears to be empty – no Knights, no traps, nothing… Kay and Dag reported back that the "magic elixir" had been distributed among the troops without problem, so by now most of the perimeter guard should be snoozing away, dreaming of little tooth fairies… Bedwyr was in charge of handling Tristan, which I'm not completely certain about, but I'm willing to cut the old goat a bit of slack…if anyone can handle the death dealer I'm…yeah, I'm seriously not entirely convinced that anyone is capable of handling Tris, but at this point I've got no other option. Mordred and Agravaine were neutralized with some old muscle relaxers from Stephen's surgery last winter. If you crunch them up and add them to tacos, which I might add was Kay's brilliant idea after an episode of _House_, nobody's the wiser. I wish I could say I feel kinda bad about that but I don't – not really. Hey, if you were me, would you feel badly? Be honest. No lying…

Stealthily I make my way toward Ewie's room, checking to make sure no one is behind me or lurking in the shadows. So far, so good. I'm up the stairs with cash in hand; Dag and Kay are standing in the hall and give me the thumbs-up so I relax a bit as I enter Ewie's room… This is going to be tricky because, as usual, Ewie's entire head is stuffed under the pillow and I've only got a very dim nightlight by which to try to locate the tooth and deposit the loot. No, I was not thinking to bring a flashlight for some stupid reason and now I'm not walking all the way back downstairs to get it 'cause I'm damn lazy and really just want to go to bed at this point. Cut me some slack, people…this is my first kid and his first tooth, I'm not exactly a professional tooth fairy, you know.

Anyway.

Honest to gods I have no clue where he was hiding. Never saw the damn Scout until the net dropped on me…and then he did. Do you know how it feels to be dragged out of your child's room in some net like a fish, flopping around? Let me just tell you – it doesn't feel exactly good. It was worse when he picked the net up, draping me over his shoulder and carried me down the stairs, depositing me in front of the couch…coincidentally, right where I was sitting before I decided to go play tooth fairy. I can hear Dag and Kay rushing downstairs as I squirm and swear furiously trying to get loose. By the way, it is true; the harder you squirm, the more entangled you become…just for your future reference in case, you know, someone ever snares you in a damn fishing net while you are trying to play tooth fairy for your only child when he loses his first tooth…

Dag and Kay work to free me while Tris backs away; I am not free for even thirty seconds when I hear the laughter from upstairs. I look up and spy Stephen holding onto the ledge of the half-wall, wiping away tears.

"Hey, babe, no worries, I got this one…" He holds up some dollar bills and points to Ewie's room. "Seems you're a bit caught up in other things…"

I hear the stifled laughter from the three men around me and I lunge forward though I don't get far when I step in the netting and my feet become entangled. As I sit and untangle my feet it dawns on me that if Bedwyr was supposed to be occupying Tristan and Tristan is here… It's then that I hear the cackle behind me and a tutu and wings hit the floor next to me.

"Should've put them on…maybe your mission would've gone better…" Beds snorts and walks around me to join the others.

"At least you'd've been able to fly away…" Kay can't resist picking up the wings and shaking them so they appear to be flapping.

They look oddly familiar and it dawns on me that's because they are the same ones Mouse was sporting last Valentine's… About this time I hear the laughter from the kitchen. Son of a…yeah, time to play fill in the blanks again.

"When?"

"Shortly after you refused the tutu and wings…" Bedwyr shrugs and smirks.

"Then what were you brewing…?"

Kay's turn to shrug. "Some water...miscellaneous herbs. Oh…if the neighbours ask, you've absolutely no idea why their dogs have laryngitis…"

I sigh and shake my head. Great. Just what I need. More reasons for the neighbours to hate me. I look up when I hear my name being called and see Grav & Dred waving enthusiastically. Wait a second. "But…what about…them…those were…?"

"Peppermints." Dag smiles and shrugs.

"And let me just tell you, peppermints in tacos suck. Especially since you like those super strong ones. Gods woman, do you suffer from dragon breath that you need ones that incredibly strong…?" Gods bless Agravaine's little heart – and I do mean they better bless it cause if I get my hands on him, I'll rip it out of his chest with my bare hands right now…

I'm so furious I do the only thing I can think of – I go upstairs to bed, shutting the light off on them. They do, between laughs, wish me a restful night filled with happy dreams…and I answer back for them to get out of my house.


	21. ShortsBut Not Short Shorts

**Disclaimer:** Same as always. No money being made off anything.

**A/N:** So…a few little shorts of everyday happenings. Well, not exactly everyday thank the universe for small favours.

* * *

_**Shorts…But Not Short-Shorts…**_

I'm sorting mail – mostly junk but a few good pieces sprinkled in. They've already absconded with the newest _Victoria's Secrets_ catalogue. This used to upset me but then I realized it is a minor inconvenience for a few hours of peace. Then a piece of mail catches my eye; oh my it's time to renew the license plates for the truck. I toy with the envelope for a few minutes…it would be really evil and I'd probably pay for it at some point down the road but what the hell…

I make my way to my office and turn on the computer. They are gathered there, as I figured they would be, and, uhm…they are…let's call it enjoying the catalogue and for once I am really glad I don't speak their native tongue. They are so engrossed that they pay me little mind – at first.

I'm guessing the official look of the envelope is what got Dag's attention. Or the website. Either way, he's come over to investigate; and if Dag's curious, the rest aren't far behind.

Like flies to honey. This is gonna be so good. I am so evil. I feel my head to see if today is the day I sprout the horns the nuns promised me one day I would; I am honestly slightly disappointed when my head is as flat as ever…or round…whatever. You know what I mean.

"What's that?"

"License plate renewal for the truck."

"What for what?"

"License…plate…renewal…for…the…truck." Yes, I do speak very slowly and enunciate every word, along with making the hand gestures to outline the truck and the license plates. Before you get laughing too hard and calling me silly, swear that, knowing this group as you do, you didn't do exactly the same thing… Uh huh. I thought so.

"Wait – isn't the vehicle yours?"

"Yes. Well. Kind of. Technically it belongs to the bank until it's paid and…" I stop because, like you, I have a sudden vision of some poor loan officer at some bank being confronted by them demanding answers. Again I do hope the universe has taken note of the kindness I show my fellow beings…

"So then you do not own everything in that truck…"

"Oh you bet your…something…I do. And since I drive, I still get to choose the music. That doesn't change."

"Then why do you have to pay someone else for the license plates if they are part of the truck, which you say you own…?"

Seeing that I am struggling to come up with something suitable, Dagonet kindly assists.

"The plates are relegated to ownership of the state. Possessing them affixed to her truck constitutes a legally binding contract of driving the vehicle in a manner consistent with the stated legal operation guidelines."

Yeah. What Dag just said. I hope you got it as well as I'm hoping they did because there isn't a chance I could interpret that into English…or any other language come to think of it. And now you have a small sampling of why we avoid asking Dag legal questions many days.

There's more though. "On an annual basis this contract must be renewed by both her and the state. At this juncture she can choose to simply renew the plates as they exist currently or she may select something else." Dag shrugs those massive shoulders and looks around. "For instance, she could choose to forfeit the current plates for, say, more tasteful ones."

Ouch. Let me insert here a reminder from a previous chapter that the current plates are a variation on 'Agravaine' and said Knight is very possessive of that distinction. I watch as it registers with him what Dag said; his nose twitches and then his forehead crinkles and his eyes narrow before the frowl spreads across his features.

"And just what is that supposed to mean? I happen to like her license plates." Oh he's really not amused and you can guess that sentence didn't exactly come out that way.

Let me say here that I don't know what the rules are in your state, but in mine we are limited to a total of seven characters/numbers/spaces. Therefore, it does make it rather difficult and some finagling is required sometimes. Let me also add that I sense the smackdown is about to begin and I am so ready to sit back and listen. I know…evil…and yes I do check for horns again and, yes, remain disappointed that they are not sprouting. Stupid nuns and their empty promises.

"M – O – R – D – R – E – D. It ALL fits and it is so much cooler." Said Knight of course crosses his arms as he nods and winks at me.

Yes, this prompts every one of them present to begin counting the letters in their names and trying to find a suitable abbreviation, if necessary. And, yes, I am sitting back in my chair and enjoying – thanks for asking. At least until the login prompt comes up and I can check different plate availability cause, really, it'll just let me mess with them even further. Yes, I am feeling especially evil today. Horn check still yields a big negative. Damnit. Now I'm really pissed – what exactly do I have to do to get those damn things to sprout anyway? Damn lying penguin ladies.

"What are you doing?"

I give them the explanation from above, minus the segment about messing with them as they really don't need to know. That can be between you and me, friend.

The variants start flying and, to be equitable, I check them all even if I would not consider them in a million years. Mostly. I do draw the line at checking anything to do with Uther, Arthur or anyone else from that grouping. Same for Bors. Sorry all you Bors lovers but I just can't…sorry.

Mordred is available, as is Bedwyr. Kay is if I put some numbers either at the beginning or end – which he does not approve of and stalks off looking rather peeved. Gawain is the same – only available with numbers added and, likewise, he does not approve. Dag isn't at all interested – I think his shyness comes into play and he just doesn't want to be the center of attention quite that spectacularly. The biggest surprise though is that every single variant of Galahad is taken. I kid you not. I mean, I can get one with some numbers but then you can't even tell what it says so it's kind of pointless. Of course, this raises questions and I have to explain that, due to popularity, I cannot have a plate with Galahad's name… I'll pause while you imagine the scene – bearing in mind that both Mordred and Bedwyr are available as-is and we already know a variant of Agravaine is… You could hear a pin drop for a few moments and then the roaring starts as Galahad gets all puffy chested…at least until he beats a hasty retreat to wherever when certain persons threaten to do very unrepeatable things to him.

Meanwhile, I have begun my own evil investigation. Did you know, remarkably, that 'Thor' is completely available without any numbers or anything else added? I know…I'm flabbergasted as well. I can't stop the smirk (but I do manage to not check for the horns this time) when I feel hot breath on my shoulder because I know exactly which three are peering intently at the screen…and, yes, I have made certain that they see what new plates I am investigating.

"You…you…you can't… Don't you even dare…"

Wow. I don't think I've ever heard so much shaking in Grav's voice. Ever. I'm going to say it's partly anger but I do think I also detect some panic too. Losing the "prime real estate" and bragging rights over the truck…whoa…

OK so even I have my evil limits and I think I've just about reached the upper confines 'cause I really do believe Grav's about to hyperventilate and with the way the other two are acting, I'm not sure if he passes out whether they'll catch him or just step over him. Not to mention I hear the sound of weapons being drawn and I recall the whole ceiling fan weapon rigging thing from a few chapters ago…

"Alright…alright…" I click out of the application and close the browser. "All I have to do is go down to the DMV and get the little sticker that makes the plates good for another year. Sheesh. Everyone just calm down now and unbunch those leathers of yours." I try not to laugh as they then realize their chances of becoming my new plates are gone in a poof and they now have to spend another year of listening to Agravaine's ownership claims. Mordred and Bedwyr take it worst, shoving past Grav while telling him where to shove it on their way for consolation bottles of cider.

Everyone exits and it's just me and the titan.

"You weren't really…I mean…you know..."

"You'll just never really know, now will you…so it might be best to behave. Stop making me look all crazy in public and whatnot…" The laugh is not comforting, nor does it help when he pats me on the head as he wanders toward the kitchen in search of his own bottle of victory cider. Me? I'm contemplating heading to the DMV before they figure out it's another potential "adventure"…but not before one last horn check and some more cursing of nuns and empty promises.

**XXXXXXXX**

I was sleeping peacefully until I rolled over and…well…ever have the feeling, even in your slumber, that something just isn't right? Although I have to admit, the hot breath on my face and someone hissing my name was a pretty solid giveaway too. Because most assuredly the stinky breath did not belong to either my favourite NFL player or pro wrestler as I am absolutely positive neither of them have dragon breath…ever…

My left eye opens slowly, cautiously, and I let out a small scream. No worries though – Stephen sleeps like the dead so…yeah…I'm on my own. Mordred is far too close for comfort and not looking happy, which, at…crikey lordy it's 2 AM…does not make me happy either.

"Mordred…" My voice, like my vision, is bleary.

"Where did they go?"

"Who?"

"Not who – what – and where are they?"

He's definitely perturbed which is not a good state for him to be in ever, much less at 2 AM, when you (meaning me, of course) have to deal with him.

"Oh get up already and come with me."

Not that I get much of a choice because shortly after uttering, he is dragging me out of bed and shoving me toward the bathroom so I can collect my glasses. I snatch said spectacles as he waits impatiently. I say this because he keeps sighing and shifting his weight…which, I might add tempts me to reach for my contacts but…yeah…see above about perturbed and not a good state for Mordred… Eventually I grab a hair tie and wander over with a nod.

"So…Dred…why did you drag…" Apparently the dragging is not yet finished as I am pulled into the sitting room off the master where a small television is located.

"Explain where my recordings went."

"Uh…what recordings?"

"You know which ones. Don't toy with me." He sighs at my blank look and crosses his arms over his chest. "_Gene Simmons Family Jewels_ – where are they?"

I can't help the laugh. I really can't. I try but I just can't. That is just such a loaded question… And, yes, for the record I did know what show he meant…I just…look it's after 2 AM now and I really was having quite a nice dream that involved aforementioned NFL player as well as pro wrestler… "Are you sure you didn't delete them?"

The look I get…I wish I could describe accurately. Disbelief. Anger. No, scratch that – rage is a far more apt descriptor. Possibly some hurt. Definite indignation. He scoffs and sneers. "Why would I do that?"

"I dunno…accidentally?" I shrug.

"I do not do things 'accidentally'."

OK you heard it folks. Mordred does not do things accidentally. You're all witnesses. And, if he finds out, on hit lists, but don't be scared. He can't possibly get us all – right? I mean not all at once…someone would be able to warn someone else…I think…Though the whole non-coporeal thing might blow that theory… Well, for comfort's sake let's just say he can't and we can all sleep tonight. At least I'm hoping I can if I can figure out what happened to Mr. Simmons' Jewels. Yes, I did just snicker as I typed that.

I grab the remote from him with a sigh and scroll through the menu. Sure enough, they are gone. I find the deleted list and there they are but, sadly, I am unable to recover them. This would be because I am technologically inept…which means I need to ask a non-technologically inept person. The person who happens to be sleeping peacefully like the dead in the bed I got dragged out of. I inform Dred of this and, you guessed it, he wants to know what I am waiting for…

"It's 2 freaking AM Dred…it can wait…"

"No, it can not. Wake him. _Now_."

"Dred…"

"If it was your stupid cartoon you'd wake him."

Ouch. Now that was uncalled for. "Hey now. You better be nice. And I would not and you can wait." I toss the remote on the chair and start back toward bed.

"You wake him or I wake him. Your choice."

"You wouldn't." I half-turn to try to gauge if he is bluffing.

A dark eyebrow arches. "Try me."

Anyone care to hazard a guess where this paragraph finds me? Anyone? Yup – on Stephen's side of the bed, trying to wake him after I hiss at Dred to leave it to me and not to do a damn thing. It takes a while to rouse my husband – told you, like the dead – but he finally wakes and agrees to come look at the problem.

"Hon…why are you watching television at…" He glances at the clock. "Jeebus babe it's almost 3 AM…" I nod toward Dred who scowls; Stephen sighs. "Oh…it's for _one of them_…"

Wow. He's either still mostly asleep or he prefers the dangerous life cause the way he says 'one of them'… I have to remind Dred that if he off's Stephen, the recordings are gone forever…and so is he…

As it turns out, the recordings really are gone forever. Who knew that if you don't press the little prompt that says 'keep', after you watch the show then after a certain amount of time, for some stupid reason, your recordings get deleted automatically…? Whoops.

Dred is pissed until, scrolling through the garbage bin, it's discovered that indeed my 'stupid cartoons' have joined Gene's Jewels…That, for some reason, brightens Dred's disposition as it ruins mine…and Stephen simply shakes his head and returns to bed muttering about people and how they record dumb shows. It is then I note my husband has sneakily added the 'keep' designation to every episode of _American Chopper_ and _Pawn Stars_.

**XXXXXXXX**

I confess I'm a bit concerned – borderline scared – since Galahad went upstairs to take a bath quite some time ago. I also realize the foolishness of giving in to his begging and whining to please, please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top, could he use the tub in the master… It's oversized and with the whirlpool feature…plenty of room for whatever it is the Pupster does while he takes a bath. No, I do not ask and most likely you shouldn't either. Or you can – I'm more than happy to send him over and you can quiz him…just no sharing. That would be deemed way more information than I need to know and I honestly don't think my few shreds of sanity would survive.

Anyway. I'm curious yet apprehensive. You know the feeling… Oh, wait, you probably don't since you don't live with this crew.

Anyway. Back to the dilemma at hand. Of course I'm going to weasel my way out of actually having to go find out what is going on upstairs if I can…and that weaseling goes by the name of Gawain. Yes, in hindsight most likely not the best selection but, you know, he was close and not doing anything of importance. Well, importance by my standards…to him it was highly important to stuff down those cherry pop tarts.

He grumbles – hey, he is one-half of the Grumble Twins, so it is expected – but he is kind enough to go check. Now remember, this is Gawain: mild tempered, easy-going, good for a laugh and relatively soft spoken… So when I hear him shouting and cursing in a manner that could make Bors blush…yeah, I become slightly alarmed. Alright, I shoot past alarmed to panicked and race up the stairs.

I stop when I get into the master. There are bubbles coming out of my bathroom. No, really…bubbles. Like the kind you see on sitcoms when someone overloads the washer and the suds run over and tumble out and everyone laughs… Except, yeah, I'm not laughing. I'm pretty sure horror is closer to what my facial expression is. That or murder, I'm not sure.

"GALAHAD!" That is the only part of what I yell that I can put in this. Trust me. I would not only have to move this to the 'M' rating, it would probably get me tossed off this site and banned for life.

Now let me remind you that it is a whirlpool tub. If you have one, you know that one of the very first things they tell you is NOT…and I repeat NOT to put anything that produces bubbles into the tub while the jets are on… This would include, but is not limited to something like, oh, say, bubble bath…especially when you buy the extra bubbly stuff for your six-year-old because the regular stuff just doesn't bubble enough…

I burst into the bathroom and the first thing I do is slosh/pop bubbles and make my way over to shut off the whirlpool jets with the button on the side of the tub. That accomplished, I turn to the figure covered in bubbles that proceeds to shriek and grab more of the translucent bubbles in an attempt to cover his man parts (as if I have never seen such parts before). My anger thankfully keeps my brain from taking note of his nakedidity and being scarred.

Clearing my throat I start to count…out loud, which should tell you just how incensed I am. Usually it is sufficient to count silently as I simply roll my eyes… This time I have to cross my arms and hold onto them so I resist the growing urge to smack the stuffing out of one cowering Pupster…and possibly Gawain – I haven't made up my mind just yet. My mood isn't helped when I hear the voices behind me asking what the commotion is all about…before they start laughing and the jokes begin flying.

Kay is nice enough to step forward and guide me out of the bathroom as he tells Galahad it would be wise to figure out just how he intends to clean and restore my bathroom to its previous state of non-bubble filled order. He takes me to the stairs and assures me that everything will be taken care of as he motions Bedwyr over and suggest perhaps a bottle of wine would be good… As Beds leads me away, I turn and see a still only bubble clad Galahad standing in the doorway…

"Pinot, Chardonnay, Moscato or Riesling?" Beds is trying to be cute and amusing.

"Yes. And find me a straw."


	22. Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer:** Just to reiterate as it's been a while: I am not making any money off this. Product placement is coincidental and I am not being reimbursed…nor am I particularly endorsing the product. Oh and everyone belongs to themselves – and some of them need to learn to keep their hands to themselves. But that is an entirely different topic.

**A/N:** My birthday. Hooray. Yay. Yippee. Rah rah rah and all that sort… You wanted to know, here it is in all its…whatever it is. Judge for yourself.

* * *

_**Happy Birthday to ME**_

It's not a good day. I don't care what anyone says about happy. I'm grumpy and damnit I want to be grumpy. If it's my day I ought to be able to be whatever I want without being damn well told about it.

Yes, it's my birthday. Yippee. All you youngsters will one day reach this point, trust me. You will understand the "old grumps" and why it is just another day – for the most part. Go ahead. Laugh. I did when I was young as well…

So. Adding to my overall grump is the fact that I had to come to work on my birthday this year. Normally I take the day off but with some other stuff that happened (people having surgeries – I mean how rude is that really?), I couldn't manage the day off. And can I just say how wrong that is? Your birthday should be an automatic holiday for you. No questions asked; no fuss, no muss. Really. Hear me out on this. If I get the day off for some dead guy that I never met – cause yes, they are all for men's birthdays…go ahead and check, I'll wait right here… Done? Yes, I was pretty ticked too when I realized that. Anywaywho. So I get the day off for some dead guy who probably doesn't care too much if I do or not, so why should he be so special? I mean, I'm alive and so doesn't that mean I would get more enjoyment from the day? And…and…if your birthday falls on a weekend, you get prior or next day off – Friday if it's a Saturday and Monday if it's a Sunday. See? Logic at work people…logic at work…

Oh. Right. You're not reading this to listen to my ramblings or philosophical waxings on birthdays and the like…

The family is smart. They have left their birthday offerings on the table for when I wake from slumber and stumble down to get coffee. Think of it like an offering to the birthday beast.

OK…let me clarify the above. The corporeal family is smart…they know the birthday beast well and know that placating said animal is the best approach to the day. Sadly, the non-corporeal moochers have not come to the same conclusion and we encounter the first…difficulty, shall we say, of the day. They have left nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. No beautifully wrapped box. No card. Not even a damn post-it note on my coffee mug. Ingrates.

By the time I come back downstairs to leave for work, the aforementioned ingrates are raiding the pantry and draining the coffee pot. And, aside from the usual morning grunts and noises (don't ask), nobody says a word.

Yes, I do recognize the duality of calling it just another day and then expecting things. I am a complicated person…or a conflicted person. I forget which one it is…or maybe it's both – I don't really recall and honestly today I really don't care.

Anyway. So not a word from the freeloaders. Even the open cards on the table which should be a dead giveaway especially when I pause to re-read the sentiments… Not even a flinch or a question of what I'm doing. Wow. That's it. I snatch the cinnamon pop-tart from Tristan's hand and storm out the door to catch my train.

**XXXXXXXX**

I sigh for I don't even know what hundredth time now. They've tagged along to work with me. It's the first Friday of the month, so it is also a jeans day which salves the sting of not being off somewhat. Just a smidgen. Much more importantly because it is a Friday the office is mostly empty so I don't have to deal with co-workers yammering on about my special day and asking about big weekend plans. Which, I might add, I have none of due to the previously mentioned surgery that someone just had to have cause he tore his rotator cuff and it really hurt. Sissy. Suck it up and wait until it isn't my birthday. Sorry…I digress so let me move along with the real reason you're reading.

I survey my small desk and note the conspicuous absence of any "happy day" wishes. Not even a vase of flowers. Oh yes, Stephen is in a heap of trouble, I assure you. See? There's that conflicted side again.

"Why so grumpy?" Gareth is toying with some pens and gazing longingly at the candy bowl on a co-workers desk. He has decided pretzel M&M's are quite possibly the best candy of this century and, yes, he is headed toward being put on a diet if he doesn't curb his love affair.

I raise an eyebrow as the rest of the crew chimes in similarly. Really? So the big neon green 'ME' noted on today on my desk calendar means…? I can only shake my head as I grab my lunch to go heat up. Of course, this means a scramble breaks out among them to snag my laptop so they can play solitaire. Yes, they and, no, don't bother pointing out that solitaire is a game meant for one player. I've tried and it did not go well.

Upon my return I go to a nearby office for some peace and quiet…or at least to be removed from the cursing and threats of enormous bodily harm they are making to each other. You see, the group has now stumbled onto Minesweeper and some sort of a tournament has been sparked…and said tournament is apparently not going well for a few of them. Namely Agravaine and Bors. I watch amusedly as in two clicks Agravaine hits a mine but, unbelievably, is topped by Bors who consistently hits the mine on his first click – and that was after three "do-overs" cause his hand slipped. Make note of that and who you do NOT want on mine detection duty…

I finish up lunch and head back to my desk telling them that despite their fondness for gaming and betting, I do have a job to do and must get back to it. They grumble but relent since I've already had the sit-down explaining that if I don't work, they don't get to continue to live rent-free and enjoy the miraculous bounty of the pantry. Or the wine cooler. I'm not certain which of those got their attention more – the possible lack of food or the lack of alcohol.

It's close to half-way through the long stretch of afternoon when a co-worker from another floor happens by and we chat for a bit. He remarks about being surprised to see me, having figured I would be off today and I note the looks of confusion the crew trade. Then he lets the proverbial cat out of the bag and taps on my desk wishing me a happy birthday before heading off as I shake my head and sigh. From the corner of my eye I notice that they are gathered in an empty office, huddled around the desk and I can't help but think how similar it looks to when they huddle around the island in the kitchen… Oh hell no – I am NOT going to let them plot and plan here. It's bad enough I have to suffer their delusions of grandeur at my home…I am most assuredly NOT putting up with them at my workplace too.

Quickly I hop from my chair and head toward them, hoping to sneak in as they seem rather involved in their discussion. And by that I mean accusations are flying about who was supposed to remember what and who is going to be responsible for fixing this mess. Again, I left out a lot of words and substituted words that would keep this in the 'T' rating category but I trust wholeheartedly that you can embellish as needed.

I pause and lean against the doorframe because I really am truly curious how they intend to rectify this little…snafu. They already know I am ticked because I am going to end up playing nurse to the surgery contingent. And not in the way that was suggested by this group though it does remind me to take another look at the parental control settings on the DirecTV and modify them. Or change the password/pin.

"Well at the very least we need to get a cake." Dagonet looks around and I notice no one seems to object, which is a good start.

"What kind?" Gareth shrugs and looks around at the furrowed brows as Gaheris sighs and quietly repeats a cake which makes Gareth sigh – loudly. "Well duh…I know a cake but you know, what kind…chocolate or vanilla or ice cream…"

"Just a cake. With frosting. And that says 'happy birthday' – nothing else. Just 'happy birthday'. No flowers. No animals. Nothing. Just 'happy birthday'." Dag squeezes his fingers together tightly and gestures to the group before he shakes his head. I bite back a laugh at his aggravation but I know he knows he has to be specific or gods only know what the cake will end up saying. Again, don't ask but since I know you will, let's just say that one should pay close attention to the writing on or what is depicted on a cake before purchasing for an event. For example, one should not show up to a retirement party with a cake with a stork...or one that reads 'Happy Graduation'. I'm not judging, I'm just putting that out there.

"And it should be without fruit." Bedwyr glances around at them all and shakes his head when they return blank looks. "You recall for the boy's birthday – she told the bakery to put frosting between layers of the cake but she better not see fruit or she'd be returning it, half-eaten or not…through their window if she had to…" He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as they continue to stare blankly. I'm not sure what he mutters in their language but I'm fairly confident it amounts to calling them all stupid, but with more words inserted that I can't insert here. "You know…her belief that if fruit and cake were meant to go together it would grow that way…"

Yes, I am a cake snob. I did make that threat to the bakery when I ordered Ewie's last birthday cake and they were mystified what to use to hold the layers together if not that fruit glop stuff. Though that is nothing compared with the threat I issued to the catering department of the hotel where Steven and I had our wedding reception. Well, really – the woman looked at me like I'd grown three heads when I told her I would not accept a cake with fruit filling between the layers. It was, literally, a twenty minute discussion of what could be put between the layers to hold them together, during which time I can say I only got moderately testy and we did finally agree on a strawberry mousse. Which, yes, I scraped out from between the layers of my piece. That's me – cake snob and proud of it. Anyway.

I have to laugh silently again as I recall the whole cake/fruit debate thing that took place as well around Ewie's birthday – yes, I'll get to that eventually one day too. Thankfully though at this moment, it seems to strike some sort of memory in them as I see the nods of recognition and hear the agreement that cake and fruit are bad, so that needs to be duly noted by whomever is sent on this errand.

"Uhm…what about bananas?" Bors has, for some reason, grown fond of that particular fruit and believes it makes everything better. Everything.

"Uhm…number one that would be a fruit and we just went over how she feels about fruit and cake…and number two…that's just…eeeewwww…" Bedwyr scrunches his face as he makes his points and the group chimes in with a collective 'eeeewww' and face scrunching.

Unfortunately this time I can't keep my laughter contained as they have been hanging around Ewie far too much and manage to look and sound just like him when he is offered mushrooms…or hot dogs.

"So…forgot the day and now you're trying to recover gracefully." I can't resist. I just can't. I think I have an illness that just hasn't been medically diagnosed yet when it comes to this stuff.

"Look…" That is as far as Agravaine gets before he apparently runs out of thoughts. Or realizes there isn't anything he can really say. I'm not sure and from the looks of it, neither is he as he stands there pointing at me with that expression. You know the expression I mean – the one where a man wants to say something but knows if he says it he's a dead man so he kind of holds his breath and stares with his lips meshed together in a tight line as he wages an internal war to decide if either death or dismemberment is worth proceeding with his thoughts.

Before I can think of something witty to say to the oversized Knight who I am afraid might pass out at my feet if he doesn't take a breath soon, I vaguely register some mumbling from the direction of Galahad. As I turn toward him I note Gawain steps back shaking his head and holding his hands up as do the Twins.

"What did you have to add, Galahad?" I want to be certain that I heard what I thought I heard but I manage to smile sweetly as I inquire. Or at least I think I do. It's later that I am told the smile actually came across rather demonic. Hey – before you judge…well read on to find out and then try to tell me you would have done any different. I dare you.

"I said we should probably do something nice because, well, you are getting old and so who knows how many of these sorts of days you have left anyway. Geez – are you going deaf too in your old age?"

I stop dead and stare at him. I can't believe he just said that so clearly, so matter-of-factly, that I am stunned for a moment. Apparently so is the group but they recover far quicker, backing up to the large windows because even they have learned somewhere along the way that calling a woman old is perilous to one's overall well-being. Except Tristan. He has taken the high ground and is perched on top of the top piece of the desk situated in the room so he can look down on the proceedings.

Clearing my throat I bite the insides of my cheeks as I glare at the Pup who only now seems to realize exactly what he blurted out. As he turns to his brethren for assistance, they plaster themselves even tighter to the windows shaking their heads and muttering his buttocks are on their own and various other things meant to put as much distance between him, them and my wrath as possible.

"Well gee Galahad, thanks for the reminder. Though I do have to point out that despite your youthful appearance, you're no spring chicken either. In fact, if you ever were alive to begin with, you are so dead and been worm food for so many years, it makes me look young in comparison… Oh and by the way, there is nothing wrong with my hearing, thank you very much for your concern though." I know…I know…you could make a dozen existential arguments about the soul and all that, but just let me soak up my bit of wit that leaves them all speechless for a few minutes. And I do mean all of them…including Mordred…but most especially even Bedwyr. Wow. I am, like, totally amazed and now this day is getting circled on the calendar for sure.

I storm out of the office and slam the door behind me. Ingrates. Freeloaders. Mooches. Yes, all those things I actually say out loud and loudly. And, yes, I do hope they hear. And moreover I hope it hurts their feelings. Idiots. Deciding that it's very wrong that my boss is on vacation on my birthday but I am not, I make the executive decision to leave for the day. Yes it is only 3 PM and yes I am supposed to be here until 4:45 when I leave to catch my train home. Too bad. It's my day and damnit I intend to enjoy something of it.

**XXXXXXXX**

It's late and the day is nearly done. I got home early to a nice dinner of Chinese takeout and a small layer cake – sans fruit, naturally. Ewie gave me a drawing he did in school depicting him giving his mommy flowers, so of course that melted my heart completely. Steven did his best despite having his arm in a huge sling from his shoulder surgery, so grudgingly I guess I have to give the man some credit.

The corporeal residents are in bed. Ewie is snoozing already and Steven is trying to get comfortable though I can just about countdown to when his pain meds will kick in and he'll be out like a light as well. I head toward the kitchen because I can hear them. The non-corporeal residents have finally shown up after I left them behind this afternoon, having slammed their age and the office door. I sigh heavily and roll my eyes wondering why the universe has to keep taunting me like this as I see they are huddled around the kitchen island. Knowing I can't avoid them forever because, well, it hasn't worked in the past, I decide it's just better to get it over and done so I can go to bed.

"OK…so you're all back and you're all…" That is as far as I get before it is my turn to stop and hold my breath when they part and I see the island. There is a bouquet of flowers which I am going to let myself believe they purchased and did not purloin, along with an envelope. I open it and it is a beautiful card which, again, I am going to let myself believe they acquired by legal means. I smile softly and shake my head thanking them quietly as I hear the whispers and two hands cover my eyes briefly before they're removed and there, on the counter, is the most perfect ice cream pie from Oberweis (turtle, my absolute favourite) with a single candle in it. I blow it out, making a wish at their insistence then laughing as an argument ensues over whether or not I can tell them what I wished for or if telling will negate the wishing. For the record, according to Mr. Legal (Dagonet), wishes are considered contracts with potential that are entered into between the individual and the universe solely and completely for that individual who is, therefore, under no obligation to relay what that potential contract entails and since said contract is deemed only as potential, admitting its contents would serve to nullify and negate the content. Did you get all that? Yeah, me either. Short version after all that was that no, I could not tell Galahad what I wished for and that he should stop asking and in fact, probably stop speaking before he said something completely and utterly moronic…again.

The pie is consumed and as the night ends I have to admit that, even without the day off and despite being insulted about my age and faculties, the birthday hasn't been too bad. The freeloading idiots have done alright in the end and I guess they can stay a bit longer, which I let them know much to their delight as they also take that to mean they can guzzle whatever there is in the wine cooler without feeling too much guilt. I turn out the lights, stopping to say goodnight to a now sleeping Steven on the couch, and laugh as I hear a collective groan from the kitchen as Galahad asks what exactly a contract is and I can just imagine Dagonet setting aside his plate before launching into a full legal explanation.

* * *

**A/N: **This was sparked by a good friend whose daughter is celebrating her birthday today and I hope it is happy and goes well. I guess this is a sort-of present to her. Unless it sucked, then forget it and happy birthday, no gift.


	23. Family Vacation - Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize from outside this cozy little universe within 'Empire'. I am also making zero off this…no cash, no checks, no credit cards. Gods that's depressing.

**A/N:** So. Welcome back. It's summer if you hadn't noticed which means vacation. Which this year meant family vacation. Or in this case, family vacation plus a few.

* * *

_**Family Vacation – Here We Go**_

Sighing I shake my head at the large knight sprawled out in the tub. Yep, you got it – Gawain failed yet again to wear adequate amounts of sunscreen and, yes, he is again sunburned like a lobster. The rest are suffering a bit too… Vacation started out well – they listened and, yeah, I had an inkling that it wouldn't last for the duration. We were gone ten days – yes, 10 whole days; we drove, they blinked cause, you know, they can do that sort of thing and honestly that was fine by me cause all of them plus the three of us…yeah, that would have been quite a case of road rage. Although, is it road rage if it involves the occupants of your own vehicle…? Ok, ok…enough waxing philosophical.

So we drove. First all the way down to Boca Raton to see some relatives because they have not see Ewan since he was small and most of you know the rule: going within the borders of a state in which you have relatives means you must visit them. No questions. No matter how far they are from your destination. Which is fine – they are great relatives, have an in-ground pool and live only a few miles from the beach. Great way to start the vacation.

Except…

We arrive late because, well, who knew the state of Florida was so long? Or that Boca, which is just outside Miami, is damn near at the very end of it? I mean, really does it matter whose fault it is…? Yeah, ok so it was mine…I'll tell you exactly what I told Steven: back off already. We left the house late and sat in traffic in Indiana which put us all behind schedule… Look, have you ever tried to pack a seven-year-old for vacation? If you have, you know what I'm talking about and if you haven't all I can say to you is wait…just wait…your time is coming and you will suddenly go "oh, I understand TOTALLY what that crazy lady in that fic was saying"… And my Indiana friends, you're all wonderful people but really…every time I have to drive through your state or to some destination in it, things never go well, so please understand when I say I hate your state.

Anyway. We arrive late in Boca. And by late I mean nearly midnight. My relatives are amused which doesn't help the road lag that we're all feeling, nor does it help me get to sleep because they want to talk to me and visit with me… Did I mention it is damn near midnight when we arrive? And we'd been driving since about eight o'clock that morning?

So I finally made it to bed. And was awakened a few hours later by Ewie looming over my bed; which explains what exactly they have been teaching him late at night when he is supposed to be sleeping and I hear the whispers and unsettling giggles coming from his room.

OK. Let me back this up a bit because I am quite certain by now you are wondering why on, in or under earth I brought them with. Let me assure you here and now that it was not at all by choice. And by that I mean I did everything I could think of to keep them from discovering the vacation plans. Hotel reservations were booked in stealth – reference materials about the Magic Kingdom were smuggled in among the feminine essentials that they do not care to know about. Apps for phones were downloaded alongside boring music. Should have been a lock on keeping it from them, right? Right? I was so damn stealthy I even impressed myself though that really doesn't take much, I have come to find. Anyway. Recall what I said about a seven-year-old packing and think about what it's like when a person in the extended family accidentally on purpose opens their cakehole and tells said child to enjoy the trip to Disney…as they hand said child a Disney gift card…once that was done, keeping anything secret or under wraps was out of the question. Though I still hoped in vain. So, shall we see just how this unfolded? Please…since I have no idea how to make FFNet make that super cool back-in-time music or do that thing where everything gets all wavy and fades into the past, just play along and imagine we are going back in time…back…back…too far, come forward a bit and into my kitchen, of course.

I walk in and the group is milling about, not at all unusual for a Tuesday night so I don't give it much thought. OK, OK…honestly I give it no thought and simply go about preparing something to eat for a late dinner. Leftovers – reheated in the micro – I know, such a spectacular gourmet I am. Anyway. So I am doing this and not paying any attention at all, which as we all know is mistake numero uno when they are anywhere in the vicinity – and quite possibly even when they aren't.

They get my attention by throwing down the Fodor's travel guide that I purchased and snuck into the house in one of the aforementioned feminine essentials packages down onto the counter. The island, to be specific because, you know, that is their command center. I appraise the book thinking of various options before turning back to the micro as it beeps my pasta with clam sauce is done; yes, I do have to smack Gawain as he helpfully tries to remove it and test the temperature for me. He's already eaten the single remaining slice of homemade garlic bread I had taken the chill off. Glaring at him I stir my pasta and mull over my response options.

"Investigating for next year." I shrug and turn around stuffing a forkful of pasta into my mouth hoping to cover the panic I feel spreading through my body. They don't buy it for a second. I know this when Galahad tosses the printouts onto the counter – hotel reservations and directions to Boca. I also think they, like some animals, can smell fear or panic…

"Disney?" Mordred looks slightly scornful as he flips the pages of the book.

"What can I say? It wasn't my choice, if you must know – which I hasten to add you must not but I'll indulge you anyway." Really. It is a disease of some sort that I keep indulging them.

"It's run by a mouse." Mouse sounds surprisingly unhappy. Indeed, for some reason I did think that fact would make him happy but as it turns out, not so much. Apparently because it is not him who is the head mouse. I think. Maybe. Or there is some plot afoot that I have yet to discover, though that is a given by now.

"Yes, it is the land of the overgrown mouse. The happiest place on Earth, so they say."

This elicits snorts and scoffs from them as well as mutterings about nowhere could be anywhere near as happy as Las Vegas. Which is when I lose it. Oh come on, you knew it was coming and it doesn't take much tonight because I am tired and I really wanted that stupid piece of garlic bread cause it was a hard tae kwon do class…

"Look…I am telling you this now and for the last time, this is Ewie's first vacation and it will be a happy vacation." I set my bowl by the sink and return to the island, leaning in and hissing at each and every one of them. "If you do anything to ruin it, I swear to whatever gods it is you worship there won't be enough pieces of you left to find out if they do indeed exist in some twisted afterlife." For some reason, I cannot stop there. I want to. I know I should. But I just can't. I blame it on the un-diagnosed disease I seem to have when dealing with them. "Disney is, for your information, the equivalent to Las Vegas for kids. It's their version of an all-night party central that revolves around some overgrown rat and his cronies as they suck the life and money out of parents from around the entire world…"

And now, back to present – or rather, the nearer past and our vacation with them. Because, you know, they just HAVE to see the child equivalent of Vegas – and so-called happiest place on Earth, which, yes, they did deem they would be the judges of. To further alleviate any confusion about their expectations, there was indeed a long, drawn out conversation about my comparison of Disney to Vegas…that they would NOT be receiving "hottie handouts" nor will there be any trucks driving around plastered with photos and phone numbers…but there would be plenty of small children, mostly having tantrums from the heat or from not seeing their favourite character or because their parents won't buy them some incredibly outrageously overpriced souvenir. Honestly, I thought with the list of what they would encounter I had dissuaded them entirely from going. They had to go have one of their private meetings in their language so that even if I eavesdrop I have no clue what they are saying. However, the universe was not on my side (again and not a real surprise) and they elected to come along. I was so thrilled. Which is how we ended up here. Well, not here since here is home. But here as in there…which was here at the time. Forget it. I just totally confused myself so let's just carry on. Keeping calm is totally optional.

**XXXXXXXX**

So…we're back in Boca at my relatives. It's a very nice house – comfortable and with an in-ground pool which, in Ewie's book, is the best thing ever and we so need to get one at our house according to him even though at least 7 months out of the year it would be un-usable due to the cold/snow/ice. But hey, whatever. He's having fun – jumping into the pool before breakfast, jumping out and eating then hopping back in until lunch…you get the drill. I swear the kid is half fish and no, he does not get that from me. And as you can guess, I also had to have the conversation with the Knightly guests about appropriate swimming attire and, predictably, it did not make them happy since this is a private residence so they should be able to swim as the gods intended, flaunting their gifts from the same gods. Yeah, you can guess who brought that gem forth – Gawain and his gifts from the gods. To which I pointed out that my relatives also were kind enough to host them and so they deserved to be able to keep their food down…which was, coincidentally, a gift from the gods and where the gods intended it to stay. For some reason Gawain was less amused by that twist on his phrasing. Go figure.

Today is special though because we are headed to the beach to swim in the Atlantic. Ewie is so excited about seeing the ocean and being able to go in the ocean that he can barely contain himself and every five minutes or so we are peppered with the inquiry of if it is time to go and how long until it is time to go. I, myself, am less excited because well, it's the ocean and stuff that lives in the ocean bites – literally. I am not keen on the idea of potentially becoming an entrée or even a sampler platter. On top of that, the crew is sulking because I had to remind them that this is not whatever beach they visited on whatever vacation they took and, again, clothing is NOT optional. Tristan is severely displeased by that and is hunched in the darkest corner he could find giving me "the look". I shake my head and remind them all to wear plenty of sunscreen, not to feed the seagulls and to remember their flip flops because sand gets hot.

Surprisingly the beach is uneventful. Or maybe it just seems that way because I blocked them out, being too taken in by Ewie's awe at the ocean. And amused at his disgust at finding out what ocean water tastes like. I know – I'm a bad mommy but really, the kid had to find out some way not to drink it. A mouthful or two – heck, even four or five – isn't going to kill him. The salt content will probably sanitize his insides, which I know it won't but these are things you tell yourself as a parent to make it alright. And hey – he is the one who went back for more…I didn't drag him into the surf. Between swimming, collecting shells, watching some pelicans do what pelicans do because I really don't know what they were doing and getting to see a starfish up close and personal, Ewie had a fine day at the beach as did everyone else. No one fed the seagulls so no one was complaining about being pooped on; everyone applied and reapplied sunscreen so no one got sunburnt; nobody became an entrée for anything in the ocean and, heck, everyone even remembered their flip flops so no burnt feet. And I actually began to let myself think that this vacation just might go well and that if this was any sign, the visit to the Mouse House might just go well and be enjoyable after all…

* * *

**A/N:** I know…shortie and I apologize…but really, it's Disney so it's going to take some chapters to cover the pain and torture. And I also apologize because, well, this was last summer. I will hang my head in shame now and go back to the keyboard.


End file.
